The Skeleton Road by Val McDermid Page B

not sure about that,’ he stalled. ‘But for now, we’ll use one of our meeting rooms.’ He led the way across the atrium and opened a door into a small but elegantly furnished room.
    Interesting, Karen thought. She wasn’t being allowed inside the bank itself. This was little more than an ante-room to the real heart of business at FCB. Still, it would do for a start. She moved straight into one of the executive leather chairs that surrounded the round table at the centre of the room. The Mint hovered by the door and Karen didn’t wait for Gordon Fitzgerald to settle himself before she launched into her spiel. ‘I’m investigating a murder,’ she said. ‘I have a significant lead which consists of a sort code and the first five digits of an account number. I need you to match them up for me with a customer.’
    Fitzgerald gave her his thin smile again. ‘We do have a duty of confidentiality, Detective. We can’t just hand over the details of hundreds of customers on your say-so.’
    Karen smiled. ‘Come on now, Fitz. We both know we’re not talking hundreds of customers. It’s not like a particular branch has a block of account numbers that they hand out in order. Account numbers are assigned centrally, non-sequentially. So of the nine hundred and ninety-nine possible customers with the same first five digits, the chances are that only a very few will share the same branch sort code. I’m right about that, am I not?’
    ‘You are. But that doesn’t change the basic position. Client confidentiality, Detective. That’s paramount here.’
    Karen opened her bag. ‘Very commendable. But I have something here that trumps your client confidentiality. Did you really think I’d come here asking for personal details of a bank account without a warrant?’ She placed the signed warrant on the table.
    He picked it up as if it were toxic. ‘I’m going to have to run this past our legal eagles.’
    ‘It’s a warrant, Fitz. If you don’t cooperate, you’ll be in front of a sheriff this afternoon for contempt. In Kirkcaldy, to add insult to injury. Look, I’m not asking for the moon here. I can even narrow it down further for you. The man whose murder I’m investigating has been dead for at least five years. So I’m guessing that account hasn’t seen much action lately.’
    He got to his feet. ‘I need to go and talk to somebody,’ he said.
    Karen made a show of taking out her phone and setting the timer. She held it up to face Fitzgerald. ‘You’ve got half an hour. Then I’m phoning the sheriff’s officer.’
    The glossy surface of his composure slipped for a moment, then he gathered himself. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’ He left the room faster than he’d entered it.
    The Mint sat down opposite her. ‘You enjoyed that, didn’t you, boss?’
    She grinned. ‘Was it that obvious?’
    ‘I think he got the message. So, will they come across?’
    ‘We’ll see. Now, do your maths homework or play Candy Crush
or something useful while I check my email.’
    The timer on Karen’s phone told her that twenty-seven minutes had elapsed when the door opened again. It wasn’t Gordon Fitzgerald who came in. It was a woman in her mid-forties dressed in an anonymous black suit and discreetly striped shirt. She carried a slim manila folder and introduced herself as she made for the chair between Karen and the Mint. ‘I’m Gemma Mackay,’ she said briskly. ‘I work for the bank’s legal department. I’ve read through your warrant and it all seems to be in order. We’ve taken a look at accounts held at that branch and there is only one that fits the partial number you supplied us with.’
    ‘Which makes everybody’s job easier,’ Karen said.
    ‘Indeed. However, you told my colleague that you anticipated the account in question would be dormant. Is that right?’
    ‘We think the account holder may be a murder victim. So yes, that’s what we anticipated.’
    Gemma nodded. ‘Well, in a sense,