A Measure of Trouble E-Book

Abrams Zach

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

A cold February morning in Scotland begins with the discovery of a body, as Hector Mathewson is found dead within the cask room of his own distillery.

While directing the hunt for the murderer, D.C.I. Alex Warren needs to balance his own turbulent personal life. Their plentiful suspects have motives ranging from greed and nationalism to adultery and revenge.

A Measure of Trouble is a gripping tartan noir thriller set in Glasgow. This is a standalone mystery and can be enjoyed even if you haven't read other books in the series.

Leseprobe

A Measure of Trouble

Alex Warren Murder Mysteries Book II

Zach Abrams

Copyright (C) 2016 Zach Abrams

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2021 by Next Chapter

Published 2021 by Next Chapter

Cover art by http://www.thecovercollection.com/

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

To my wife who has supported my efforts and suffered my obsessions while writing.

Chapter 1

The paperwork would have to wait. Detective Chief Inspector Alex Warren had honoured his good intentions and arrived early to clear out his trays but it was all for nothing. He'd barely started the task before his plan was interrupted. He replaced the receiver on the rest and sighed audibly.

He needed to think clearly but he couldn't get the old joke out of his mind, `Man dies in a distillery, his body was a mess, but you should have seen the smile on his face.' This was no time for jokes though. Within the last few minutes, a man had been found lying face down on the floor of the cask room at the Benlochy Distillery. There was collapsed shelving and upset casks lying around him together with broken glass spread over the general area. The description was unusually clear for a reported incident, but the reason was obvious as it came from the security man and he was a retired policeman. Now Alex needed to get himself and his team thirty miles up the road post haste and, ideally, before the blood had time to dry.

Alex opened the door of his private office and peered across the dimly lit expanse of the open-plan area. Although his view was partly impeded by the baffle screens, he was aware of Detective Constable Donnie McAvoy at the far side of the room and he was the only officer at his desk. Donnie was coming towards the end of his nightshift and his space was the only one with its overhead light switched on; the rest of the office was in darkness. Alex instructed Donnie to alert the `scene of crime' team and to phone round each of the day shift officers to call them in early or to send them straight to the distillery. He considered asking Donnie to work on but then thought better of it. Donnie was only a few months off retirement and he was an old-school type of cop. Alex wasn't confident how safe it would be to leave Donnie alone with one bottle, let alone set him loose in a whisky manufacturing plant. Instead, he would have the support of Sergeant Sanjay Guptar and Constable Philip Morrison. Sanjay was teetotal, and whilst Phil didn't come close to a life of abstinence, he was dependable. Alex would have preferred to have his other Sergeant, Sandra Mackinnon, but he knew that would be impossible as it was her day off and she already had a full day's activity scheduled flat-hunting. Alex was acutely aware of Sandra's plans as they'd spent most of the previous evening talking about them.

It had been just a few weeks now, but Alex and Sandra were becoming an item. They were still keen to keep their blossoming relationship a secret, but it was increasingly difficult. Both were ambitious and loved their jobs and they knew it was impractical and contrary to policy for them to be a couple working in the same team.

Alex donned his scarf and gloves and pulled his Crombie-style wool coat tightly round him before exiting the building and braving the cold spring morning. The sky was already bright and blue with only a light scattering of clouds, but the icy breeze took his breath away.

Alex walked briskly round the corner to where he'd left his Santa Fe. He removed his coat but kept on the scarf and gloves waiting until the car warmed up. He first turned the ignition then boosted the temperature on the climate control and flicked on the switch for his heated seat.

Within a couple of minutes, he reached the motorway on-ramp at Charing Cross and already he felt warm and comfortable, his legs and back starting to tingle from the infused heat. Accelerating onto the M8, he turned the thermostat down.

Although familiar with the area and knowing its location, Alex had never been to the distillery before. Still early morning, most traffic was heading towards the city. Vehicle flow was unimpeded coming out of town, and Alex made steady progress first along the M8 motorway then cutting off along the A80 dual carriageway towards Stirling. His speed had to be curtailed on the narrower country roads. Besides being smaller in size, the surfaces were uneven and he had to manoeuvre around the frequent potholes. Alex had his windscreen wipers on intermittent to clear away the smurry spray thrown up by other vehicles, a result of the remains of the previous night's downpour which hadn't already seeped or drained into the adjacent fields. Even so, he arrived less than forty minutes after receiving the phone call.

Seeing the buildings in the distance, Alex pulled off the road and snaked his way along the winding avenue, lined with Scots pine trees, and through the tall wrought iron gates. He held up his warrant card as he drove past the security booth then followed the signs for the visitors' parking area, sliding into a space alongside a squad car. He alighted from his vehicle and strode across the cobbled courtyard towards the office reception, his lengthy gait covering the distance in seconds.

After scanning his identification, a young lady escorted him back out of the building and across a walkway. In front was a large plain wall about sixty feet in length and twenty feet tall, roughcast and freshly painted stark white. On top, a red tiled roof sloped upwards. Towards the rear was a substantial timber entranceway large enough for a commercial vehicle to enter but sunk within the large door was a standard-sized door for pedestrian traffic. Constable Winters was true to his name; his skin had a blue tinge from the cold and he was standing, shivering in the doorway where he'd been stationed to ensure the area was kept secure.

“Glad to see you, Sir. I've had a hell of a job trying to keep everyone out.” Winters pushed the door open to give Alex access and followed him through. Inside was a large hallway lined with racks, each neatly labelled and holding large barrels spread at regular intervals. The lighting was dim but Alex could clearly see a broken rack about halfway down the room with several barrels lying askew on the ground. A prostrate body was set in their midst, otherwise the room was empty.

“They all wanted to come and see what's happened and some of the bosses are used to having their own way. I've been manning this door and Bert Ferguson, my partner's trying to keep everyone else together in the board room. Sandy Johnston's been a good help. He's head of security and he found the body. He was a sergeant in Central constabulary until he retired about eight years ago.”

“What did you find when you arrived?” Alex enquired.

“Bert and I arrived at the same time as the ambulance. We were shown to this room and the body was lying there just as it is now.”

Alex sniffed the air. Although no expert, he enjoyed the occasional dram, and the pungency was unmistakable. To his concern, the smell was emanating from Winters.

Seeing Alex's expression, Winters quickly explained, “As you can see, some of the barrels had fallen about and one of them split open and was spilling onto the floor. Sandy and I helped to right it. We couldn't let it spread across the floor and maybe destroy some evidence, and besides, it would've been a crime to have good whisky going to waste. See, that's it over by the wall.”

Alex studied Winters' face to see if he was joking “And you've not touched anything else?”

“No, Sir, only what I had to. I didn't touch the whisky other than to help move the cask. I never drink spirits, I can't handle it. It goes for my stomach. I'm a beer man,” he added. Judging by the man's girth, Alex had no reason to doubt the veracity of his last statement.

“What about the body?”

“He was lying like that when we arrived. Sandy said he'd already checked and he was dead. Even from a distance we could see he was right. His head's bashed and the eyes are unblinking, wide open with that startled look. The ambulance boys had a closer look but knew better than to interfere with anything. They hung about for a while but then had another call and reckoned they would be better trying to look after the living. That's when we spotted the barrel was leaking and Sandy and I righted it, that's why my uniform's reeking. We ushered everyone out of this area and Bert and Sandy are keeping them all in the board room waiting for you to arrive while I've been keeping watch on this door.”

“Who's all in there?”

“I can't be sure by now. Sandy had clocked in at seven this morning and he found the body shortly after that. He called in the emergency and we got here before half past. At that time, there were only a couple of other security men and three or four lads from the warehouse and production. But pretty soon all hell broke loose with other workers coming to start their shift. Shirley, the receptionist, arrived and we've let her stay to man the office but everyone else has been kept together. Sandy must have called the owners `cause they arrived all at once and tried to take over but we've managed to hold them back so far.”

“What about the dead man? Does anyone know who he is?”

“Yes, did I not say? It's Hector Mathewson. He's one of the owners and the Managing Director of the distillery.”

“Christ, we'll be swamped by the media the moment this gets out.”

Alex walked across towards the body but carefully stopped a few feet away. He crouched down for a better look. He took only a few seconds, but with his keen eye and experience it was enough to take it all in. As far as he could tell, Mathewson was aged in his late forties, of fairly average height, but muscularly built with broad athletic shoulders, about five-foot-ten and maybe one hundred and seventy pounds. He had a slim angular face, a powerful jaw with a shadow which fell short of designer stubble. His hair was thin and jet black on the crown with silver showing at the temples and on the re-growth. Alex guessed it had previously been tinted. Gravity had already affected his blood supply and most of his visible skin had a grey pallor. Alex reckoned he'd been dead for several hours. Unable to examine further until the technicians had done their bit, he stood again and walked back to the door.

He could hear footsteps approaching and, sure enough, the door barged open and he was greeted by the scene of crime team, all clad in white jumpsuits and bootees. As they had no discernable uniform, Alex gazed from face to face looking for Inspector Connors but was disappointed not to recognise him.

Other than Connors, he didn't know any of them well, but three of the new arrivals looked familiar, all being about the same height and build. The fourth, however, was different. She was an elegant, tall, young lady with long, dark hair, and chiselled features. Her complexion was ebony, contrasting starkly against her jumpsuit. She confidently approached him. “Morning, Chief. Is it okay if we get started now?”

“Who are you? I don't recognise you. Have we met before?”

“Only briefly, I was in Inspector Connors' office when you came in to see him last week. My name's Anne Dixon. I only joined the team two weeks ago. I was with the Met up until last month. I applied for a transfer and got the job here. I was delighted to have the chance of working with Inspector Connors; he's well respected on a national scale and it can only help my reputation to be associated with him. The move came about because my partner's a lecturer and was offered a tenured position at Glasgow University.”

“Welcome to Scotland. What does he lecture?”

“Biochemistry, we met when we were both undergraduates at Queen Mary University in London, and he's a she.”

“Sorry, I shouldn't be jumping to conclusions.”

“Don't worry about it. It happens all the time and we're used to it.”

“Well, I hope you're thick-skinned. Although times have changed and it's nowhere near as bad as it used to be, you could face a lot of prejudice coming up from London.”

A startled look came over Anne's face. “You mean because I'm black or because I'm a lesbian?”

“No, no, neither, the Scots are generally quite tolerant where that's concerned.” Alex replied unable to hide his smirk. “It's because you're English. The moment anyone hears your cultured BBC accent, you could have problems.”

“Okay, you had me going there,” Anne said and she lightly and playfully punched him on the shoulder. “Now better get started.” She moved forward and pulled up her hood and tucked in her hair.

“Right, I'll leave you to it. I need to go and take statements and I'll check back with you later. Where's Connors today, anyway?”

“He has a day's leave to go to funeral. His wife's cousin I think.”

“Poor sod, as if he doesn't see enough death, he goes to a funeral on his day off.” Alex turned to leave and had PC Winters lead him across to the offices.

With perfect timing, Sergeant Guptar and Constable Morrison were approaching the reception. They were accompanied by Constable Mary McKenzie, the most recent addition to their squad. They were an unlikely looking trio. Sanjay, the most senior of the three, was also the smallest. Only five-foot-four in height, he wouldn't have met recruitment criterion until fairly recently, but what he lacked in height he compensated for in determination and intellect. His slight frame was crested with short, jet-black hair and he sported studious looking, thick-framed, black spectacles. Phil was nearly ten years older, having joined the police as a replacement career choice after his former employer migrated to Eastern Europe. Seeing them together was like looking at a `Little and Large' contrast but neither having any similarity to the comedy act he recollected from years before. Only slightly smaller than Alex, with a sportsman's physique and a height of six-foot-three, Phil towered over Sanjay. Being moderately tanned, his skin tone was lighter but because of his overgrown schoolboy attitude and sense of humour, you could be forgiven for thinking him the younger of the two. Mary's country upbringing was evident from her wholesome appearance. A little bit taller than Sanjay, she was stocky without being fat and had a pale complexion contrasted by naturally rosy cheeks. She had a pleasant, full round face and shoulder-length, curly locks. Although young and enthusiastic, Mary was daunted at the thought of this being her first murder enquiry.

“Sanjay, Phil, Mary, you're just in time. We're about to get started interviewing witnesses and anyone who knows what's been happening.”

“Can I volunteer for any stocktaking duties?” Phil asked. “With the emphasis on the taking, that is.” A broad smile settled on his face.

“You'd better wipe that grin off before we go in. There's likely to be a lot of shocked and upset people we need to talk to, so you can start by adopting a more professional demeanour. I say adopt because I know it couldn't come naturally to you.”

Phil feigned a hurt expression.

All five entered the board room and were met by a barrage of questions and demands. Everyone was asking what had happened and wanted to know the details. Alex held up his hands and called for silence. He explained the procedures they would be following. He wanted details of everyone present, their names, addresses and telephone numbers. Everyone on site at the time of the death would be interviewed first, as well as each of the owners, directors and senior managers. Everyone else would follow if and when necessary.

A short pudgy man came striding forward. He had a spherical head but the almost perfect geometry was spoiled by large protruding ears. His pate was topped by light brown lines of hair which were so sparse they appeared to be drawn onto his balding scalp by biro. The large ears gave the appearance of jug handles and his face was bright crimson in colour with the uneven texture of blotting paper.

“I want to know exactly what's going on and I insist you keep me up to date with every development. I'll let you use my office for your interviews, but I'll sit in on them.”

Alex stood to attention, straightened his back and let the man see the full benefit of his muscular frame and six-foot-six of height. He did not turn his head or bend his neck, instead adjusting his eyes to literally look down his nose. With an expression on his face indicating he had just become aware of a nasty and unpleasant smell, he replied, “I don't think you understand that we are investigating a mysterious death. I'm in charge here and I can conduct this enquiry any way I chose. If you insist on getting in my way then I'll have you arrested and held in custody until I get round to speaking to you. And I warn you, I won't be in any hurry.”

“You can't speak to me like that,” the man blustered. “I'm a director and one of the owners of this business. I'm a local councillor and, besides, the dead man's my brother-in-law.”

“I can speak to you any way I like. So far I've not lost my temper and I've been very restrained. I can assure you, Sir, you don't want that to change. Now, if you really have some authority then I suggest that other than the employees we identify, your security and other essential staff, all the rest of the employees are sent home to give greater opportunity for my team to gather evidence in the course of the day. Now what's your name?”

As Alex was speaking, the man's face was growing even brighter and the vein on his neck pulsed visibly. His hands were shaking with rage and his eyes looked upwards to Alex's face as if trying to burn their way through him.

“I'm Quentin Burns,” he said, then he turned away and thumped his fist on the table as he sat back down.

A second figure approached Alex, but this one was more respectful. “Good morning, Sir. I'm Sandy Johnston, I'm the security supervisor and I was the one who found the body and called it in. I take it you'll want to talk to me, then I can help with the interviews if you like.”

“I'm pleased to meet you, Sandy, although I'd have preferred different circumstances.” He extended his hand and Sandy shook it enthusiastically.

“You're right. I'd like to interview you. We've still to ascertain the cause of death, but for the time being it can be considered suspicious. Winters has told me that you've been a great help already. You're a key witness and you can also brief me on who's who in this operation with a bit of background too. But you must realise you're no longer a cop and you can't be present when we interview anyone else.”

“Of course, I'll do anything I can.”

A schedule was set up planning the order of interviews and who would conduct them. A number of uniformed officers had arrived and were assisting with the organisation.

Rooms were identified where the interviews would be conducted. Hector's private office was left vacant to enable the scene a crime team to conduct a thorough inspection. If only to assert his authority, Alex decided to commandeer Quentin Burns's office and, accompanied by Phil Morrison, he selected Sandy as an obvious first choice and called him for the first interview.

Chapter 2

The executives' offices were all on the first floor above the reception, and Quentin's office overlooked the main gate. It was large and opulently adorned. All the walls were covered to ceiling height either by wooden shelving or wood panelling. Everything was a rich cherry-wood colour with the exception of the frames of the large windows which took up most of the wall facing the entrance door. These looked as though they had recently been replaced using white uPVC, although the ledges remained consistent with the rest of the room.

On the left wall to the side of the windows was a substantial timber fireplace and in front of the window sat an ornately carved wooden desk with matching armchair. The legs on both were scrolled and the desk's surface was protected by a plate glass cover. The set looked to be eighteenth century and Alex guessed they must be worth a fortune. In front of the fireplace were a further two, stout armchairs, also vintage but not of the same age or quality. The opposite wall was covered ceiling to floor with a bookcase filled with leather bound texts. Close to the remaining wall, beside the entrance, was a solid table surrounded by six chairs, not quite to the standard of the desk but nevertheless an imposing piece. Above the table hung an oil portrait depicting a man who had all the trappings of being wealthy, strong and influential. He was dressed in Victorian garb and had dark hair with flowing side-locks. However, his jug ears and round flushed face had a distinct resemblance to Quentin Burns.

“Is there any way of getting a cup of tea around here?” Alex called as he walked across the room.

“I'll get it sorted,” Sandy offered. “Just give me a sec.”

Alex sat at the table with his back to the wall. Phil took the seat to his left and Sandy returned and pulled up a chair facing him. Phil lifted a notepad and pen from his case then pulled out a portable recorder. Switching it on, he noted and confirmed all the standard information before the interview commenced.

“Right, Sandy, I gather you were the first one to find the body?”

“That's right, Sir. I'd only clocked on a short while before and I was making a regular tour of inspection. When I got to the shop I thought it a bit odd, a lot of the shelves were empty and looking a bit untidy, then I saw the door through to the cask room wasn't closed. It all seemed very strange because that door's always kept locked and it's standard practice for the shop to be cleaned, tidied and restocked every night.

“I went through the door to the cask room and that's when I saw Mr Mathewson lying on the floor. I was pretty certain he was dead but I checked for a pulse just in case. I felt nothing and his skin was cold so I reckoned he'd been dead for some time.”

“Did you touch anything else?”

“No, Sir. I only checked his pulse then I moved away and called in `999.' Fred Winters and Bert Ferguson were here in a matter of minutes and I brought them in to see. We secured the door from the shop so there'd be only the one way in, then we took a look at the body, that's when we saw one of the kegs had a split and was leaking. Fred helped me right it and move it out the way so it wouldn't cause any damage.”

“Yeah, we realised from the smell off his uniform. Did anyone…” Alex's next question was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Phil jumped up to pull it open.

The receptionist wheeled in an elaborate and well-laden tea trolley. She lifted bone china cups, saucers and side plates from the lower level and passed a set to each of them. A quality, silver-plated tea service was then placed on the centre of the table followed by a large plate piled high with butter shortbread and a second plate full of Tunnock's teacakes.

“Thanks, Shirley. That was perfect timing. We were just gasping for a brew,” Sandy said.

“Would you like me to pour?” she offered.

“No thanks. We can manage just fine ourselves.”

Shirley parked the trolley against the side wall and pulled the door closed behind her with enthusiastic words of gratitude ringing in her ears.

“This sure beats the sludge served in Styrofoam cups we get in the office,” Phil said while taking the initiative and serving the tea. “Do you want a break, Sir?”

“No time. There's far too much to do. We can have our tea while we keep going.” Alex carefully lifted the fragile teacup, the delicate porcelain looking incongruous, lost in his meaty hands. Much as he enjoyed the finer things in life, Alex would have felt more at home with a robust mug. Instead, he felt a little bit uncomfortable, with the dilemma of being keen to quench his thirst but being wary of crushing the crockery. He tried to refocus on the interview.

“Did anyone know Mathewson was here?”

“That's the problem. Security records show that he left at 3 o'clock yesterday afternoon when he drove out and his car's not been back in since.”

“Did he live close-by? Could he have walked?”

“He's not that far away, maybe a couple of miles, but it's not been the weather for walking and Mathewson didn't go in for unnecessary exercise at the best of times. Not unless he was posing, that is.”

“Are you sure it was him who left at three? Or could someone else just have taken his car out?”

“No, the records show it was him leaving. Besides, there were stories he had an important meeting in Glasgow.”

“Yeah, what was that about?”

“Well, you know there's been talk about the business being up for sale.”

“Sorry, Sandy, you're assuming too much. This is the first time we've been out here and it's to investigate a suspicious death. Don't assume we know about anything else that's been going on. But it could be relevant, so I'd like you to go back to the beginning and tell me what you know. I need as much background information as you can give me. How is the business structured and who's all involved. Most of it will be irrelevant but it'll help us build up a picture.”

Alex's concentration became slightly distracted as out the corner of his eye he caught sight of Phil trying to stuff a teacake into his mouth in one piece. Inevitably he failed and the chocolate covering broke up, spreading glutinous, white marshmallow across his lips and chin, which he then struggled to lick clean.

“For God sake man, can't you show some decorum?” he exclaimed, but was unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. “Besides, don't you know where all those calories will end up?”

“Not much worry there,” Phil replied. “When I'm not working, I'm forever running after the two wee ones.”

The words were out his mouth without thinking and he regretted them immediately when he saw a brief flash of pain showing in Alex eyes. Alex's marriage had ended a couple of years beforehand and his two sons lived with their mother with Alex only having limited opportunity to exercise his custody rights.

“I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't mean…”

“Let's stay focussed. We've got a hell of a lot to get through. Right, Sandy, what can you tell us?”

“A quick history – the Benlochy Distillery was first set up here on this site in the first half of the nineteenth century. There's stories about an illegal still on this same site going back long before that. I don't know if it's true but it's something to do with the burn flowing past the door. There's also talk of a natural spring just the other side of the hill. Anyway, the distillery was created by Samuel Burns and it's been a family business ever since. His grandson was also a Samuel Burns and that's his portrait up on the wall.”

Alex turned to again examine the picture occupying a large section of the wall. The subject was an austere looking man standing in front of what was now the main building. He was dressed in a dark velvet cape and holding a cane in his right hand and a book, possibly a bible, in his left.

“It's been there for the last hundred years and more.” Sandy continued, “His great-grandson is Daniel Burns. It was always a good business but Mr Daniel really built it up over the last thirty years or so. He increased production and added another still. He modernised the place and built storage. He had the brand recognised as one of the best known, single malt whiskies in the world. There are three main marketing brands, the 12, 15 and 18 year old. But there's a whole load of other specialities as well, sometimes using different types of cask. Also there are bulk sales for supermarket and blend products. On top of that, we have whiskies which have been bottled in different years and they're sometimes supplied to collectors and clubs. The 12, 15 and 18 are the number of years the whisky is left to mature in the casks before it gets bottled because, unlike wine, it doesn't continue to mature in the bottle.”

Sandy's pride in being associated with the product was obvious. Phil was fascinated with his explanation. Alex was already aware of much of what he was being told and, much as he too was interested in what he was hearing, he was aware it wasn't what he needed now.

“Thanks, Sandy. We'd like to hear more about the product but let's leave that part until later. Tell us more about the people for just now.”

“Yes, of course, Sir. Sorry, I was getting a bit carried away. When Daniel took over, he owned or controlled most of the shareholding, but as part of the growth strategy he allowed in some outside investors. Even so, the family still controlled the vast majority. Some years ago he got involved in tax planning and a lot of the shares went into a family trust and others were distributed to his three children. Georgina is the oldest, that's Hector Mathewson's wife. Then there's Quentin who you met a few minutes ago and his young brother Stanley. They were each given an equal number of shares so they had some of the ownership, but Daniel used to be a bit of a tyrant and he kept absolute control himself.”

“How do you know all of this? Is it public knowledge?”

“It used to be very confidential but it all came out a couple of years back when Daniel took ill. As I said, Daniel was a bit of a tyrant and he kept control of absolutely everything. Georgina worked in the business and used to look after the office. After she married, Hector came to work here too. He was an accountant, at least that's what he claimed but he didn't show much sign of it. He had no idea about controlling money but he certainly knew how to spend it. Georgina gave up working when her children were born and more's the pity because she knew what she was doing in a way that Hector never did. Quentin's always worked here and he's the director of sales and marketing.”

“What about Stanley?”

“He never wanted to be involved. He's a lot younger than the other two. He wanted to go to university and study medicine and he had the grades to do it but Daniel wouldn't let him and insisted he come in and learn the business. He was smart too, but never fitted in. He and Quentin never got along. They couldn't stand the sight of each other, actually. After a few years, his father let him go off and travel. By then it was too late for him to take up the medicine offer and he wasn't interested in studying anything else. He's bummed around ever since. Every so often he comes back and does some work for a few months and then he buggers off again.”

“What was the cause of the aggro?”

“I can't say for sure but Stanley was always the blue-eyed boy, his mother's favourite, and I think Quentin resented it. He always wants to be the centre of attention and he'd quite often create problems for Stanley or undermine his efforts and then tell everyone about how useless he was. He's a bully and Stanley was an easy target. His father's a bully too, but at least Daniel had real ability which goes some way to make up for it.

“Like I was saying, Daniel ran this place with an iron fist. But then a couple of years ago he had a stroke. It was a bad one and completely floored him. At first, no one thought he would pull through but he's an incredibly strong man. It took him months but he got back most of his mobility. He's got a limp now and uses a stick and his speech is a bit slurred but he's made a remarkable recovery. It's really weakened him though and sapped his confidence.

“When it first happened, the family got together. They knew they had to do something to keep the business going. As part of his planning, Daniel had set up a living Power or Attorney and the children used this to take over control.”

“What about his wife?”

“Oh, she died a number of years ago so it was all down to the children. In theory they had equal say but Stanley still didn't want to be involved and used his influence to stop Quentin getting control. As a result, Hector, using Georgina's shares, became the managing director. Quentin was livid. He thought the company was his birthright and he also thought he was the natural successor as he knew the most about how the company functioned. There were some major squabbles but there was nothing Quentin could do. Even the investors backed Hector because they'd been led to believe he was a professional. Quentin had threatened to walk out but it was all bluster. Since then they've worked together okay but the atmosphere has not always been pleasant.”

“This sounds a right hornet's nest.”

“Aye, you could say that.”

“Who else is involved?”

“On the senior management side there's a couple of others. Patrick Gillespie is the Company Secretary. He's in his seventies, probably about the same as Daniel and he's worked for the company all his life. He started as a junior clerk but he was given training as a boy and sent off to college to get his qualifications. He always deferred to Miss Georgina when she worked here but he really ran the office when Hector was supposedly in charge. He looks after all the office staff, the general admin, the accounts and the sales and export administration. I suppose in a modern organisation he'd be called the Finance Director or Chief Finance Officer but we're still a bit old fashioned here so he's just the Secretary. The other manager is Callum McPherson and he's responsible for materials control. He takes care of stock control, buying and inventory management.

“On top of that, we've got the children. Hector and Georgina have two and so do Quentin and his wife Fiona. Stanley's never been married and there's talk that he never will, if you know what I mean. As for the children, they're all pretty much a waste of space. They swan around here as if they own the place, which I suppose they do in a way, but not yet. They all take out a salary but they don't do very much. Quentin's oldest, Samuel, is the only one who even tries. He was named after some of his fore-bearers but that doesn't seem to have gone for anything as he's as daft as a brush. Quentin gets him to go on sales trips and to stand at our stall at whisky exhibitions, but pouring the whisky seems all he's good for, and drinking it, of course. He seems to have developed quite a taste for the product.”

Phil had been taking his own notes to supplement the recording but he saw a natural pause to put down his pen and refill the teacups. All three slurped down the hot liquid and Phil took the opportunity to devour a thick slab of shortbread.

“Have you had no breakfast, son?” Alex enquired.

“No, Sir. I'd been planning to pick up a bacon roll before going into the office but Donny phoned to tell me about coming out here first thing. I'd thought of getting something to eat on the road out but I couldn't take bacon or sausage into the car with Sanjay. It wouldn't have been right with his religious beliefs.”

“Very thoughtful,” Alex added sardonically.