She’ll flicker her fucking eyelashes next, the DCI growled, inwardly. ‘Bacon rolls all right?’ he asked, then paused. ‘Oh sorry.’

  A brief smile appeared. ‘Don’t let my name fool you,’ she said. ‘I’m not practising, although I’d prefer tuna mayo on rye if that’s okay.’

  ‘I’ll put them on order,’ Haddock told her. He fired off a text to Wright. ‘It’ll be about half an hour,’ he announced. ‘Rather than wait that long, let’s begin. Ms Goldstein,’ he continued, ‘can you describe your relationship to the person we knew as Gavin Ayre?’

  ‘I knew him as a business associate,’ she replied. ‘That’s until a very short time ago, when I was told by my father . . . my late father . . . that he was in fact my half-brother from an extra-marital affair that Dad had hidden from everyone.’

  ‘What was his real name?’

  ‘David Allen. But I really did not know until Dad told me. I didn’t know that it was a false identity. If I had . . .’ she exclaimed, with apparent fear in her eyes, ‘it would be a crime in Scotland, wouldn’t it? Buying property under a false name.’

  Mann shook her head. ‘Not really. In Scotland you can call yourself anything you like. You can even choose between Janet and John. But entering the country with a false passport, that’s a whole different plate of sandwiches.’

  ‘How did you feel when you discovered the truth about David?’ Haddock asked. ‘Did you feel he’d betrayed you?’

  ‘I was afraid,’ Goldstein whispered. ‘I was afraid that we’d broken the law.’

  ‘Can you explain that?’

  ‘I’d slept with him. To discover that he was my brother . . . it’s a crime, isn’t it?’

  ‘Actually, it’s not,’ the superintendent said. ‘If you could prove that you were unaware of the relationship, you couldn’t be charged under Scottish law.’

  ‘Not even if I was pregnant? You know I’m pregnant, don’t you?’

  Mann shrugged. ‘We’re aware that you claim to be, Ruby. I heard you say so in Spain, yes. But there’s no evidence of that.’

  ‘Okay,’ she retorted, ‘bring me a test kit with the sandwiches and I’ll prove it to you.’

  ‘It could only be his?’

  She stared back at Haddock. ‘What do you take me for?’ she snapped. It was as if a very fine crack had appeared in a smooth surface.

  ‘I’ll get to that,’ he murmured. ‘Your first reaction when you found out was fear, you said, fear of consequences. Consequences of what? Of conceiving a child with a man without knowing of the relationship between you? Consanguinity, we call it in Scotland. That’s regrettable, no question, but in the circumstances it’s fixable, whatever you want the outcome to be. Let me lay my cards on the table, Ms Goldstein.’

  Before he could deal his hand, the door from the anteroom was pushed open and Wright appeared, carrying a tray laden with half a dozen rolls, and three closed beakers. She set it down, picked up one of the beakers and handed it to Goldstein. ‘Lemon and honey,’ she announced. ‘Tuna mayo in wholemeal rolls. The best I could do; no rye bread in the canteen I’m afraid.’

  Haddock kept his annoyance hidden as he thanked the DS; he had no choice but to allow Goldstein to regroup and gather her thoughts as they ate.

  ‘Better now?’ he asked, solicitously, as she finished. She nodded, wiping her mouth with a napkin. ‘Good. Let’s get back to consequences. If I were to suggest that you were afraid of the consequences of the unexpected death of your father, that would be true, wouldn’t it?’

  She gazed back at him, her mouth set more tightly than before.

  ‘With him gone, your embezzlement of campaign funds and your laundering it into international properties was liable to be revealed. Isn’t that why you vanished?’

  ‘I admitted to that in Spain,’ Goldstein pointed out.

  ‘Yes, you did,’ he agreed. ‘Your plan to lure any pursuit south while you were heading north, destroying the identity of Geraldine Black to re-emerge as Ruby Goldstein, naïve, innocent and bereaved daughter. But, and here’s the thing, we know that you omitted to mention the quick trip you made to Scotland. Disclosure: we know about it. We’ve tracked you from arrival to departure . . . and this is where it gets sticky . . . including your night in the Castle Inn and your very early departure. Talk us through that, Ms Goldstein; David was at home; you knew that. You could have gone straight there. Why didn’t you?’

  ‘I was still panicking,’ she replied, ‘still afraid, after my father’s death, after what he had told me about David. My father had sworn that David didn’t know about me being his half-sister. I had to believe that, I needed to believe that, but I felt that I couldn’t just burst in on him at night. I wanted to choose my moment. So, my plan was to go there in the morning, to be there after he came home from his morning ride on Winalot. And I was. I left the Castle Inn early, before anyone was up, and I walked to David’s place. It’s not far. I used the code, let myself in, and I waited. After an hour, I thought, “He’s late.” After another thirty minutes I checked the stable in case I’d got it wrong and the horse was there, but he wasn’t. The box was empty and David’s phone was on the bench. That’s when I started to worry. I took his car, I drove to the car park on Gullane Bents, and I parked. Then I saw a police vehicle at the far end of the park. I thought nothing of it until I walked down to the beach and saw activity there. I knew then, I just guessed that it was him. I went back up to the car; there was a parking ticket on it already. I ripped it off and threw it away, and I got out of there. I put the car back in the garage, did my best to remove any trace of my presence, walked the long way to the bus stop and got myself back to the airport, got on to a late flight, as Ruby, not Geraldine. I guess you know that part already?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Haddock confirmed. ‘Your story’s plausible. But we have another version.’

  ‘Do tell?’ Goldstein drawled. The false vulnerability was gone; the real personality had come to the surface.

  ‘You’d been there before,’ he said, ‘not just when David was there, but with your father, in June. Our hypothesis is that even then you perceived David as a threat. He’d become too comfortable in Scotland. The horse, the golf club, the girlfriend . . .’ Her eyebrows rose; for half a second, but he saw it. ‘Yes, he had a girlfriend . . . at least one that we know of. You were afraid that sooner or later he would give himself away, so you decided that he had to go. Our thinking is that somehow on that visit you acquired a firearm, and you hid it for later use. When it all blew up with your father you had to act. You flew to Scotland, did everything you said, only you left the hotel really early, retrieved the gun, lay in wait for him where you knew he’d be, and you took your shot. Then, you went back to the house, along the shore line; disposed of the firearm in the sea, weighted down at low tide, then did all the stuff you’ve just described.’

  ‘A dead shot, am I?’ she challenged.

  Haddock smiled. ‘Well yes, you are. My colleague DI Singh, he really has checked on you, Ms Goldstein, all the way back. One of the things he discovered was that when you were twenty-two, you joined the Wisconsin National Guard. You served in a tactical unit, where you were a sharpshooter. You even served six months in Afghanistan.’

  He nodded. ‘We’re going to look for that firearm. The tide’s exceptionally low just now, lower than it’s been for months. We might even find it. When we do, we’ll be having this discussion again in different surroundings.’

  Ruby Goldstein drained her lemon-and-ginger tea, looking each detective in the eye. ‘I’d like to go back to the hotel now,’ she said. ‘You have nothing; your theory sucks. As we all know, I came here voluntarily. Tomorrow, I’d like to go back to the US to deal with my father’s death.’ She smiled, with force. ‘National Guard, huh? Tell your hotshot detective to check again.’

  Her confidence seemed unshakeable. Inwardly, Haddock sighed, as his own evaporated. ‘I will,’ he promised. ‘For now, yes, you can go.’ He texted Wright. They waited in silence for the sergeant to return. When she appeared, his orders were curt and clipped. ‘Back to the hotel, Sergeant. Ms Goldstein,’ he warned, ‘don’t make any travel plans.’

  He waited until they had left, then called Singh, handsfree audio so that Mann could hear. ‘Tarvil,’ he said, ‘Goldstein’s service record. How did you get it?’

  ‘Through the Embassy in London; I was surprised they came up with it so quickly. I said as much to their guy. He laughed and said the US defence department never sleeps, but apparently it was accessible because of her service overseas with the regular forces.’

  ‘Get back on to him right away and check that it was fully awake when it came up with that information. There’s something wrong; she pretty much laughed in our faces when I dropped it on her.’

  ‘Will do, Sauce,’ the DI promised. ‘Are you and DCI Mann ready to come and see what’s on this spreadsheet? I don’t understand all of it but the bits that I do are very interesting.’

  Ninety-Four

  ‘You’re kidding me!’ Skinner exclaimed.

  ‘Nope,’ McGuire said. ‘I’ve just been told.’

  ‘Bloody hell! I would love to be in the room when that breaks.’

  ‘Best not,’ his friend retorted, as he ended the call.

  He sat back, smiling; until his ringtone played again: his grin vanished when he saw the incoming ID. It was a US mobile number. At that moment there was only one likely caller. ‘Merle,’ he sighed as he accepted. ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘Edinburgh,’ Gower replied. ‘I need to stick as close to Ruby Goldstein as I can. I’m keeping a low profile: only the Chief Constable and his deputy know I’m here.’

  ‘When was your profile ever high, Merle? A word of advice: don’t imagine you can pull any rank with either of them.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind. If I have to ask them for anything my cap will be in my hand.’

  ‘Wise,’ Skinner said. ‘What might you be asking them for?’

  ‘Ruby Goldstein. We need her back home to make the story of Russell Silver’s sad death plausible. The President still feels exposed because of his courtship of Silver as a running mate.’

  ‘I wish I could get excited about that, but I can’t.’

  ‘Your journalists can, though; your group has White House accredited correspondents. If we don’t put a lid on this damn soon, it will blow. The Washington Post asked the Press Secretary yesterday whether Silver was away working on his acceptance speech for VP, since he seems to have paused his own campaign. It was laughed off, but in the absence of anyone in his office to explain his absence, and David Allen’s, it’s only a matter of time.’

  ‘Maybe I should instruct our people to ask the question,’ he suggested.

  The words hung in the air. ‘You fucking wouldn’t,’ Gower murmured.

  ‘You owe me, remember. Merle, we’ve known each other for years. You’ve had a few roles in that time, but every one of them has had a running theme: you’re a law enforcement officer. We both know this woman’s guilty of a serious crime yet you’re talking about whitewashing her. I don’t know if I can let that happen, seriously.’

  ‘Bob, don’t get me wrong,’ she countered. ‘If the Department of Justice could prove that Silver and his crew, his kids, embezzled campaign donor funds, the President would likely throw them to the wolves and claim all the integrity points that were going, but they can’t. Allen’s been very clever: there is no trail.’

  ‘If proof was given to you,’ he asked, ‘what would you do with it?’

  ‘Me, I’d burn them,’ she replied, instantly. ‘And,’ she added, ‘I’d use it to get the best deal for myself. I’m highly placed now, Bob, but I’ve always wanted one of the top jobs to round off my career. Director of the FBI, Head of the National Security Agency. Either of those, I don’t care.’

  ‘Watch this space,’ he said. ‘So long, Merle.’

  Ninety-Five

  ‘This is a pleasant surprise,’ Ruby Goldstein said as Jackie Wright showed her into the conference room. ‘I expected to be back here, but not this soon.’ She paused as she realised that four people awaited her, rather than the two that she had seen before. One of the newcomers was Merle Gower, whom she had met in Spain, but the other was a stranger. He was a massive man, wearing a black suit that seemed to suit his appearance, thick black hair, curls flecked with grey, heavy eyebrows and dark eyes. Italian? she wondered.

  Whoever he was, the young superintendent still seemed to be in charge; she made eye contact and gave him a confident smile. ‘I guess this means I don’t have to spend another night in that hotel: it isn’t the best, and the two goons on the door don’t add to its charms.’

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Haddock said. ‘Our hospitality budget’s limited; as for the officers, it’s our duty to keep you safe. Your guess is correct though; you won’t be going back there.’ He broke off. ‘Introductions: Ms Gower you know; the other is my boss, Deputy Chief Constable McGuire.’

  The dark man nodded. ‘Purely a courtesy visit,’ he said in a deep Scottish voice. Not Italian, she decided, and yet . . .

  ‘The courtesy is appreciated,’ she replied. But what the hell is the NSA woman doing here? she wondered.

  ‘I need to update you on our discussion this morning,’ Haddock continued. ‘We left it hanging, just a little. We’re always eager to please, so we acted upon your suggestion. It took a little while, but DI Singh was finally able to access your National Guard records at state level. And as I’m sure you knew he would, he discovered that you were discharged from the Guard three years ago, after a head injury that you sustained in a cycling accident left you with severely compromised vision in your right eye. You were no longer fit for active duty in the Ranger squad of which you were a part, so they kicked you out. Bottom line, our hypothesis that you assassinated the victim, your half-brother David Allen, falls at that hurdle. You couldn’t have taken the shot because you can’t see well enough.’

  She smiled. ‘Finally,’ she said, ‘you got there.’

  The superintendent shrugged. ‘We persevere. We can’t take a flawed case to court, so we look at it from both sides. We’d have got there in time, without your help. There’s something else,’ he continued. ‘We checked with the East Lothian parking enforcement people and found an outstanding parking ticket issued on Gullane Bents to the car registered to Gavin Ayre, issued around the time you said you were there. It’s pretty clear that if by some miracle you had hit him from that distance, you wouldn’t have been revisiting the scene of the crime.’ He nodded, with a faint smile. ‘With these new factors taken into account, Ms Goldstein, I thank you for your voluntary cooperation and I confirm that you are no longer a person of interest to our investigation.’

  ‘Well . . .’ she began but his raised hand cut her off.

  ‘However,’ he continued, ‘there is the matter of entering the UK under a false name and with a false passport. Enough of that survived the fire in Spain for it to be identified as yours. Even better, it was stamped at Border Control and that page was intact too.’

  She glared at him, then at Mann, then Gower and then the impassive McGuire. ‘Lawyer,’ she murmured.

  ‘You don’t need one,’ the DCC said. ‘We’re not going to report you for prosecution. That would only get in the way,’

  ‘Of what?’ she challenged.

  ‘Of this.’ He held up a small device: a memory stick. ‘We found it at your brother’s house. We’ve examined it and also consulted with Ms Gower; she confirms that it appears to be a detailed record of all the money that you embezzled from your late father’s campaign fund, and of how it was spent. There are annotations there; initials, GA, GB and GL. I’m new to this investigation but I know what they stand for and so do you.’

  ‘The fuck!’ she hissed. ‘Why would . . .?’

  ‘Why would he do that?’ the DCC finished the question. ‘I don’t know, but I’ll take a stab at it.’ He showed the stick once again. ‘I’d say this was a bargaining chip; it’s an attempt at protection for himself in the event that the fraud came to light. You can see it, can’t you, Ms Goldstein? You’re all caught, he cooperates with the Department of Justice and a plea deal is struck. He does a couple of years; you and your father do thirty. But now, it’s in our hands.’

  ‘It’s numbers,’ she countered, rallying, ‘that’s all. How can you tie it to me?’

  McGuire’s smile was dazzling, flashing white teeth and gleaming eyes. ‘Because there’s more in there than just a spreadsheet. There are JPEG files of written notes, in two different hands. He photographed them and he stored them. Guesswork again: one of them is your father’s and the other is yours.’

  It was over; everyone in the room knew that as her brick hard resolve crumbled before them. ‘What’s next?’ she sighed.

  ‘Next,’ he said, ‘in a fine example of international co-operation, I do this.’ He handed the memory stick to Merle Gower.

  ‘And I,’ she said, ‘in my capacity as a sworn US Federal Marshal, am arresting you, Ruby Goldstein, to be returned to the United States to face trial.’

  ‘Seriously?’ she retorted, recovering some of her venom. ‘How long do you think it’ll take to get me back there?’

  ‘Extradition?’ Gower replied. ‘That would depend on how long you could drag out the appeal process, but bear in mind that you’d be in custody for all that time. Actually, it would be easier for the Scots to try you for the passport offences, then deport you as a criminal, after you’d served half your jail sentence here. Isn’t that right, Detective Superintendent Haddock?’

  Sauce nodded. ‘It is,’ he confirmed. ‘I’ve spoken to the Crown Office. On the basis of the evidence we have, you’d be charged under indictment; the maximum penalty would be fourteen years, and our judges aren’t known for their leniency.’

  Beside him, Gower nodded. ‘I can vouch for that,’ she confirmed. ‘However, I have a feeling that it won’t come to that.’ She drew a deep breath.