Halliwell had let those questions stew for far too long, but there was little else he could do without more information.
And here it was.
“What’s their news?” he had asked the sheriff.
Jackson Norris had frowned deeply at him, as though the question itself offended his sensibilities. “Mr. Cox wants to see you. In fact, the firm’s partners want to meet with you this morning. The sooner the better. Whatever they know, you’ll find out when you get there. And whatever it is they want you to do with that information, that’s what you’ll do.”
Halliwell had stared at the sheriff. “You’re holding out on me, Jackson.”
“It’s your case, Ted. You want me to send someone else?”
It was an idle threat, Halliwell knew. This had been political for Sheriff Norris from the start. Bascombe & Cox had helped him get elected sheriff in the first place, and if he was to prove their money well spent, he had to make Max Bascombe’s murder his number-one priorty. Halliwell knew he was the best detective in the sheriff’s department. Maybe one of the best in the state, if he allowed himself that hubris. Whatever the firm wanted, Norris was going to do his best to see they got it.
But it had been gnawing at Halliwell, and regardless of his boss’s motivations, there was no way he was letting this case get away.
“No. I’ll follow up. Let’s see what they’ve got. It’s gotta be more than what we have. If there’s a lead that’ll help me find Oliver Bascombe, I want it. I don’t know if a conversation with the guy is going to solve my case, but it’s sure going to fill in some of the blanks. Maybe the firm can help.”
The conversation was still fresh in his mind three quarters of an hour later as he pulled his car into a spot outside a handsome brick building that had been a schoolhouse in the nineteenth century. A white sign had been affixed beside the massive doors, engraved with black letters that read BASCOMBE & COX, ATTORNEYS AT LAW.
Halliwell could practically smell the money.
The receptionist was an attractive fortyish woman who looked more than a little like she ought to have been handing out fines at the library. Her hair was tied back tightly and her glasses were so old-fashioned Halliwell was sure they must be back in style by now. When he gave his name she nodded gravely.
“Yes, Detective. Sheriff Norris phoned ahead. They’re in the conference room, expecting you.”
He waited for her to summon a secretary or paralegal to come and lead him into the back. Instead, the receptionist glanced at the door, hesitated a moment, and then rose to escort him herself. Halliwell followed her past the partition with the firm’s name in large block letters, and down a corridor that ran between cubicles and well-appointed offices. Some were empty, while others revealed lawyers staring at computer screens or piles of documents.
They went up a curving staircase and emerged in a second-floor foyer, surrounded by thriving potted plants and elegant woodwork. The maple floor was polished to a high sheen. On the opposite side of the foyer was a glass wall, and beyond the glass a large conference room. The table was not round, but seemed large enough for a gathering of Arthurian knights. Instead, it was surrounded by lawyers. With the traditionalist, Old World attitudes of Bascombe & Cox, Halliwell was surprised to see that several of the partners were women.
The receptionist strode to the door of the conference room, and as Halliwell followed her, every head turned to watch him approach.
“Ah, Angela, this is Detective Halliwell, I presume?” asked the man at the far end of the table. He had the whitest hair and the most expensive suit, so Halliwell pegged him as the boss.
“Yes, Mr. Cox.”
Cox smiled. “Thank you, Angela.”
The receptionist turned and strode away without a backward glance, returning to her post. Not one of the attorneys watched her go, all of them focused on Halliwell. Only then did the detective notice that to Cox’s right was a familiar face. Julianna Whitney nodded in recognition but did not smile. She was pale and there were tired circles under her eyes.
“Detective Halliwell, thank you for coming,” Cox said. “I’m Andrew Cox.”
The lawyer did not bother to get up. There would be no formal greeting, no shaking of hands. He introduced a couple of the others, obviously the most senior of the partners, but left most of them anonymous. Halliwell nodded and gave each a perfunctory hello. After a moment’s hesitation, Cox gestured to his right.
“And you know Attorney Whitney, of course.”
“I do. I knew that she worked for the firm, but wasn’t aware that she was a lawyer.”
Cox smiled. “Oh, yes. Quite an excellent attorney, our Julianna. Though she chooses to use her law degree in other pursuits.” He indicated the chair at the very end of the table, nearest the door. “Now then, if you’d like to have a seat?”
Halliwell frowned. He didn’t have a clue what the hell the old man was talking about. Also, he didn’t like the way the meeting was so entirely one-sided. To people as wealthy as Andrew Cox, officers of the law were always going to seem like errand boys, and men like Jackson Norris only made matters worse by confirming their presumptions. He decided to shift control of things somewhat.
“Mr. Cox, I don’t really know what I’m doing here. The sheriff was vague about the purpose of this visit. If you’ve got information that’s pertinent to my case, particularly the location of Oliver Bascombe, there isn’t any reason you couldn’t have simply passed that along to the sheriff and he to me.”
The old man’s cheeks reddened slightly and a bit of pique flickered across his face, but then he smiled. “You misunderstand, Detective. Sheriff Norris was fully apprised of the information we’ve recently acquired. If he did not share it with you, I’d say that’s a topic of further discussion between you and your employer. What I wished to discuss with you, what the firm of Bascombe and Cox wished to present to you, was on a related matter.”
Halliwell considered that a moment. He wanted to remain standing but it would only insult Cox and his partners. As frustrated as he was, not to mention curious, rudeness would only come back to haunt him later. He slid into the chair and kept his back straight, lacing his hands upon his lap.
“All right. But would you mind, first, telling me whatever it was that the sheriff couldn’t be bothered to mention?”
Cox nodded and a shroud of sincerity came over his features. He nodded toward a handsome, slick-looking man who sat only a couple of seats away from Halliwell.
“Steven. Would you be so kind?”
The lawyer reached down into the open briefcase beside his chair and withdrew a manila folder. He slid it across the table to Halliwell.
“We’ve located Oliver Bascombe.”
Halliwell blinked and glanced around the dozen or so faces, but they were expressionless, only watching him expectantly. With a shrug he opened the folder and began to examine the papers it contained. There were records of a sizable cash advance from Oliver’s American Express account as well as a car rental receipt and a copy of a brand-new international driver’s license. There were photographs of a rather rough-looking Oliver taken from a security camera. He had a scruffy growth of beard but it was unmistakably him.
His frown deepened, and then he glanced up at Julianna before turning his attention to Cox. “London? How the hell did he get to London?”
The old man shifted his gaze to Julianna and for the first time Halliwell thought there might be some heart to Andrew Cox, something beyond the arrogance of entitlement. He hesitated before answering.
“We don’t really know. Oliver phoned Miss Whitney from a public booth in the north of London. He charged it to his credit card. According to that conversation, he claims to have had no knowledge of his father’s murder or of his sister’s disappearance. He did, however, tell Julianna that he could not return home at the moment. That there was something he had to accomplish first.”
Halliwell had stopped listening to Cox. His focus now was on Julianna. “What something?”
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, eyes averted for a moment. Then she lifted her chin and gazed directly at him. “He wouldn’t say. All I can tell you is that I know him better than anyone except maybe Collette, and his surprise sounded completely genuine to me. I wanted to get him to tell me more, or at least when to expect him back in the States, but something happened wherever he was. Someone was calling to him and he said a quick good-bye and hung up. It sounded . . . well, from his voice, it sounded like whatever interrupted him, it wasn’t good.”
With a nod, Halliwell went back to perusing the documents in front of him. “You’ve contacted the police in London, I assume? Have they been able to find him?”
The room was silent. The lawyers stared at him intently, Julianna included. Cox cleared his throat.
“Actually, Detective,” Steven began, smoothing his stylish tie, “we haven’t involved the London police as yet. If our information is correct, it would be useless to bring them into it. The manager at the American Express office was cooperative when talking to Mr. Cox. It seems in addition to cash and a rental car, they also provided maps, driving directions, and arranged a private ferry passage from mainland Scotland to a place called Canna Island, which is in the . . .”
He frowned, trying to remember. Steven glanced at the folder in front of Halliwell, obviously wishing he could have it back to double-check his information.
“The Hebridean Sea,” Julianna finished for him.
Halliwell turned his attention on her and Cox again. “All right. So we know where he’s headed. As you’re both well aware, the sheriff’s department would like to speak with Mr. Bascombe to see if he can shed light on his father’s murder, his sister’s whereabouts, and at least one other killing.”
Julianna flinched. “What do you mean? What other killings are you talking about?”
He studiously ignored the question and looked only at Cox now. “It would be helpful, I’d think, to ask the Scottish authorities to detain him. Even to question him. But other than that, without some evidence to link him to one of these crimes, it isn’t like he can be extradited if he doesn’t want to come home.”
Cox nodded. “True. Which is where you come in, Detective Halliwell. You’re aware that the firm has attempted throughout this process to keep the more sensational details of the case out of the media, and to monitor the progress of the investigation.”
Halliwell wanted to laugh. Bascombe & Cox had brought the sheriff’s department into a case that was fundamentally not their jurisdiction, exerting whatever power they had to keep it in the sheriff’s hands— in Halliwell’s own hands— instead of leaving it to the Kitteridge P.D. That hadn’t worked out as well as they had planned. The murder had made news, all right. But so far, the mutilation of Max Bascombe had been kept from the public.
“So what am I supposed to do?” he asked. “Go to Scotland and get him? It’s a bit outside my jurisdiction, Mr. Cox.”
Cox gave him the enigmatic smile of a man who never had to bluff at poker because the other players would sooner fold than dare to beat him.
“We aren’t talking about jurisdiction, Detective. Bascombe and Cox has a small office in London. We do business in the United Kingdom. You would locate Oliver and let him know that he is the executor of his father’s estate and that he needs to return home to see to his duties to his family and to this firm. We have worked hard to keep the press from portraying him as a suspect in his father’s murder. If that were to change, it would create a spectacle that would reflect very poorly on the firm. So we would like you to go to Scotland and tell him all that I’ve said. That ought to give you ample opportunity to ask him whatever questions you like about his behavior and the whereabouts of his sister.”
Halliwell cocked his head and looked around the room, unable to believe the utter arrogance of the man. Of all of them. Julianna raised an eyebrow and one side of her mouth lifted in amusement, but without malice.
“If you have offices there,” Halliwell said, focused on Cox rather than any of his silent partners, “I’m sure there are people you could send to retrieve him. He works for you, after all. Though if you have an office there and he didn’t go there when he needed cash and a shave, I’d guess he didn’t feel like checking in with the firm. In any case, I have a job, Mr. Cox. It isn’t as if I can run off to—”
Andrew Cox waved a hand in dismissal. “Sheriff Norris has already agreed to give you a paid leave of absence. On top of that, this firm will pay you quite well for your trouble, as well as covering all expenses. Jackson Norris has made it clear that he holds you in high regard, Detective Halliwell. We need a man we can trust, a man with your skills, and whose credentials will earn him cooperation from U.K. law enforcement if that becomes necessary.”
Halliwell took a breath and sat back in his chair. There was a reason for Cox’s arrogance. The man was shrewd. He had thought of everything. Looking into his eyes, Halliwell realized that the outcome of this meeting had never been in doubt. Much as he despised the man’s presumption and swagger, he was deeply troubled by this case and the firm was handing him the means to pursue the investigation far beyond the parameters he would have otherwise been shackled with. Halliwell would have been frustrated as hell knowing Oliver Bascombe was out of his reach. Now he had a chance to confront the vanishing lawyer, and thanks to Cox, he was even more frustrated.
But he couldn’t walk away from the opportunity. Cox had been counting on that. He nodded, but slowly, and he used his eyes to let Cox know he was a prick. Not that the old man would care what Ted Halliwell thought.
“All right, Mr. Cox. When do I leave?”
“You will depart from Bangor International this evening, accompanied by our firm’s investigator.”