“May we help?” Isabel asked.
Michael shook his head. “Gladstone was a partner and can act as solicitor for all of MacCarthy’s clients. Nessie was MacCarthy’s assistant, so she can help Gladstone. We can’t.”
“That’s right,” Sinclair agreed. “We’ll have Gladstone and Nessie sort out any privileged information. And now that we’ve discovered the other activities MacCarthy was involved in, we’ll pack up everything else and take it to Inverness for investigation.”
Isabel leaned into Michael’s side and whispered, “Will they take the painting, too?”
“Why? Do you want to buy it?”
“Good God, no.” She looked up at him with a twinkle in her eyes. “Then again . . .”
“What?”
“It might be a nice housewarming gift for Kate and Dylan.”
He had a good laugh. “You wouldn’t.”
“No. It’s fun to think about, but I’m not that cruel.”
“Excuse me for interrupting,” Nessie called out. “Mr. Gladstone is here.”
? ? ?
DONAL GLADSTONE WASN’T AT ALL WHAT ISABEL EXPECTED. THE SOLICITOR HAD A NICE SMILE
and a quiet voice that was at odds with his size. The man was at least six feet seven or eight inches tall and built like a linebacker. He was younger than she had imagined, probably in his early to midfifties. His cheeks were ruddy, his handshake firm, and his piercing gray eyes didn’t seem to miss much of anything.
Compared to MacCarthy’s cluttered pigsty, Gladstone’s office was austere and squeaky-clean.
There was an old weathered desk polished to a glossy shine. Two captain’s chairs upholstered in dark blue leather faced the desk, and another chair sat by the window. An old-fashioned beige metal file cabinet was on the opposite wall. There weren’t any paintings or photos on the walls or on the desk, and there weren’t any clowns, which told Isabel that Gladstone wasn’t a nutcase.
After the introductions were made, Gladstone motioned to the chairs and said, “Please make yourselves comfortable, and we’ll get right to this.” He paused for a few seconds and then said,
“There is much to discuss.”
He rounded the desk and pulled out his swivel chair. It groaned when he sat down. He tapped the thick folder on his desk. “This is Compton MacKenna’s last will and testament. When I was informed you would be coming in to sign the papers, I took it home with me and read it without interruption. I went over the disbursements and conditions.”
He leaned forward and stacked his hands on top of the folder. “At that time, along with the will, there was a sealed envelope addressed to Grace Isabel MacKenna. A note attached to the will explained that Compton had written a letter outlining his stipulations. You were to open the envelope in front of witnesses here in my office on your birthday or any day after.” He thought to add, “There’s also a certified copy of your birth certificate in the file.”
“You said the envelope was in the file? It isn’t there now?” Michael asked. “Or did I misunderstand?”
“There is a problem,” Gladstone said. “The envelope is missing.”
“Missing?” Isabel repeated.
“How did that happen?” Michael wanted to know. He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice.
He knew he shouldn’t react until he had all the facts.
“The next morning, after I made sure everything was in order, I put the folder back in the file cabinet. Every night when I leave my office, I lock the door. Every night,” he stressed. “It’s a habit I’ve gotten into since I moved into this building.” He drew a breath and continued, “Someone came in here and took the envelope out of the folder. After talking at length to Nessie, I believe I know who did it. It was MacCarthy. I can’t prove it, though.”
“Who had access?” Michael asked.
“Nessie is the only person who has a key to my office. She’s very trustworthy.” Turning to Isabel, Gladstone said, “I’m so sorry. I never thought anyone would look in my files.”
Isabel acknowledged his apology with a nod. Was Gladstone at fault? He had kept the file under lock and key. What more could he have done?
“When did this happen?” Michael asked.
“I’m not sure. I didn’t look in the file again until yesterday. I’ve been going back and forth to Edinburgh to finish up with some clients and also help get my flat ready to sell. Each trip I’ve stayed five or six days.”
Michael moved on to another question. “Inspector Sinclair told us that you received an anonymous call about Isabel?”
“Yes. That’s right. I was in Edinburgh when I got the call on my cell phone from the stranger telling me he had overheard talk about Grace MacKenna. The man on the phone was fearful. I could hear it in his voice. I don’t know how he found out, but he knew I was in charge of the MacKenna estate, and he pleaded with me to convince Grace to stay away. He was concerned about her safety.
Before I could ask any questions, he ended the call.”
“What did you do then?” Michael asked.
“I got hold of my friend Craig Walsh. I had talked to Isabel when I took over for Mr. Abernathy and notified her that I was her solicitor and would facilitate the terms of Mr. MacKenna’s will. She told me she was going to Boston for a week and then coming here. After that disturbing call from the stranger, I had to do something. I knew Isabel was probably on her way to Boston by then, and so was Craig. I had spoken to him a couple of days before and knew he was flying up to Boston to visit family. I told him about the call and my worry for Miss MacKenna, so he agreed to look in on her and talk to her about the possible danger. I thought I might be overreacting. There wasn’t an actual threat, but I felt compelled to warn her all the same. You can imagine my distress when I was contacted by the FBI and was told that someone was trying to kill Miss MacKenna. I now know I should have immediately gone to the authorities. It was a terrible mistake on my part. I didn’t know any of this was happening until I was contacted by the FBI a couple of days ago. I gave them all the details, and they assured me, with the date and time of the call, they’d be able to track down the caller.”
Isabel’s back began to ache, and she realized she was sitting ramrod straight on the edge of the chair. Any straighter and her spine would snap. She forced herself to sit back.
“What do we do now?” she asked. “Do I still sign the papers?”
“The terms of Mr. MacKenna’s will specifically state that you must read the letter he wrote to you before you take possession of the property.”