Notably, there were no calls, text messages, or emails from Leo.
“Grant said he’d had no contact wi’ Jack after their argument. It seems he was tellin’ the truth.”
Elizabeth had noticed that, too, but they still had the GPS data to analyze.
“There are no calls, no data, no texts—nothing at all—after he bought the new phone on October twenty-first, except for the call he made to you a week later.” Then Elizabeth noticed something interesting. “There is still a lot of GPS data from that point on. He continued to carry the phone with him until the day he called you.”
She looked at the last GPS location for the phone and checked the date and time against his last call. “The last thing he did with his original phone was call you.”
16
Quinn sat with Elizabeth in one of the offices that British Intelligence maintained in the building. “Now I know where our tax money goes.”
A man who introduced himself as Agent Smith—aye, right—sat across from them. “I hear you might have something for us.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Not really. It’s just circumstantial. I don’t know that I would even call it intelligence.”
She told them about their experience with that bastard Grant and her intuition that he’d learned something about her that worried him.
“His gaze jerked to me for just a moment. It wasn’t casual. He was laser-focused on me for just a second, and he wasn’t happy. The only thing I can imagine is that he somehow found out I used to be a counterterrorism analyst.”
Smith frowned. “How would he learn that?”
“A few people here know. Quinn. You all. Ava Murray and her sister-in-law. Oh, yes, and PC Patel with Police Scotland. Maybe Grant has access to inside sources of information.”
Smith nodded. “Interesting.”
“There’s a leak in the police station.” Quinn knew this was outside Smith’s jurisdiction, but he told Smith anyway. “Someone has been leakin’ details about the investigation into Jack Murray’s death to the media.”
Smith listened, then shifted his attention back to Elizabeth. “I heard that Grant gave you that black eye.”
Elizabeth told him what Quinn had said and how Leo had reacted. “I took the punch to be an admission of guilt about drug smuggling. Grant was sad about Jack’s death. Of that I’m certain. But he also wanted us off the property the moment he got that call. Why would he be afraid of a former counterterrorism analyst?”
“I see where you’re going with this. Also, why would the owner of a freight shipping company do background checks on anyone, particularly two people who aren’t doing business with him? That’s all highly irregular—and not something he ought to be able to do, legally speaking.”
“The men workin’ for him are carryin’ firearms, and the ones we met are all Irish—though bein’ Irish disnae prove anythin’.”
Smith looked surprised. “Carrying weapons? I doubt they have permits. Did they draw on you?”
“Naw, but I could see they were carryin’ pistols in concealed shoulder holsters. I do that all the time, so I know well what it looks like. Their jackets were uneven at the bottom, and the way they held their left arms…”
“I know what you mean.” Then Smith went over some of the details with them. “You went to see him because you thought perhaps he was behind your friend’s murder?”
“Yes.” Elizabeth filled in the blanks. “He said he had no contact with Jack after their argument, and so far, the data we’ve gotten from Jack’s phones shows he was telling the truth. We haven’t checked the GPS data yet.”
“The drugs that were planted in your hotel room—that happened the day after you confronted Grant at his place in Troon?”
“Aye.” It had to be Grant.The bastard.
Smith got to his feet. “Thank you for sharing this.”
Quinn and Elizabeth stood, too.
“I wish we had something more actionable, more concrete for you. I feel a little embarrassed to be able to tell you only that he looked at me strangely and then tried to punch Quinn.”
Smith smiled. “What you gave us might be more helpful than you realize. You can take the lift back up to your suite.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bond,” Elizabeth said, joking. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”