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‘Yeah, I guess.’
She keeps reading and pulls out a yellow legal pad, jotting down details. Opening her laptop, she begins comparing information and underlining some of her notes.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘These are businesses that belong to North Star Holdings, the umbrella company for the Buchan Family Trust. Employment agencies, labour hire companies, warehouses, shipping brokers, manufacturing plants.’
‘Why so many?’
‘It’s a very valuable trust. But look how each company has Temple Court Holdings listed as a third-party owner. And the only names linked to the law firm are these two solicitors. They’re the common denominator.’
‘The common what?’ I ask.
‘The link.’
Florence types in a different search and pulls up another photograph of Philip Welbeck, dressed in a black suit and red tie with his oiled hair slicked back in a dark wave, curling over his eyebrows.
She reads from his biography. ‘Welbeck went to the same school as the Buchan brothers. He could have been a friend. And look here. He’s a director of Glengowrie Lodge – a private estate that has been owned by the Buchan family since 1850.’
‘Is that important?’
‘It’s a link between David Buchan, Philip Welbeck and William Radford.’
The next webpage displays aerial photographs of a grand-looking country house, surrounding by trees and streams and rolling hills.
‘Is it a hotel?’ I ask.
‘A sporting lodge for fishermen and grouse shooters.’
‘What’s a grouse?’
‘A game bird,’ says Cyrus, who has found us in the library.
‘What game does it play?’ I ask.
‘The one-sided sort,’ says Cyrus. ‘They’re bred to be hunted.’
He pulls up a chair and Florence shows him the screen. ‘William Radford and the Buchan family used the same firm of lawyers to set up a non-trading company that had partial ownership of dozens of businesses.’
‘Until when?’ Cyrus asks.
‘Six years ago.’
‘How far is Glengowrie?’
‘Fifteen miles from here.’
‘We should take a look.’
‘I thought we were going home,’ I say.
‘We are. Soon.’
He spins the chair, facing me, knee to knee, and I get the feeling I’ve done something wrong. He continues gently. ‘When Sean Murdoch walked you home from the pub the other night, he told you to go back to Nottingham.’
‘Yeah.’
‘And you didn’t tell him where you lived?’
