The more he relaxed, the more he wanted to talk. She only interrupted him to ask if she could make some notes so she didn’t lose anything. He was okay with that and couldn’t stop even if she’d wanted him to. There was too much he didn’t want to carry on into his last years without explaining himself. He wanted to go back to his sister some day and feel cleansed of his old life.
He started with the mess in Edinburgh and told her everything up to the point he’d left Brenda in the car park at the Braid Hills. When Macallan heard Woods’ name she knew that the strands were drawing together. She was in the middle of a web of deceit and would have to face the men and women involved before it was finished.
‘I want out of the life. The problem is Brenda’s still out there, and the truth is I should have helped Woods. The boy’s dead now an’ I’m worried the Logans or Brenda will take Bobo. Boy’s a numpty but I don’t want to see him carved up. Brenda’s lost it completely an’ someone’s bound to take her out of the game shortly. That’s up to you.’
Macallan thought about it for a moment. On the plus side, he was talking about crimes where there would be no complainers, so in effect no crime. She was safe enough with that but knew there was more to come. ‘Want some tea? I need a natural break and think we’ll be here for a while, if that’s okay?’
He managed a weak smile; he was warming to her. ‘Sure could, mouth’s dryin’ up. Never made a confession to the polis in my natural.’
Macallan organised the brew, then called McGovern and gave him a brief summary of what had happened.
‘Careful there. You could end up in a mess if he starts admitting and you’ve no corroboration.’ He paused. ‘But of course you know that.’
‘I’ll take the flak, but to be honest I think most of this is just going to tell us what happened rather than putting anyone away. Might be a history lesson at the end of the day, but it does sound like Big Brenda might be writing the invitations to her own funeral. Last thing: get the phone records from HOLMES for Mickey Dalton and let’s see what they tell us. If there is another story about the murder, the phones are always the best start.’
‘We’re already on it and looking at them as we speak. Or rather Felicity is and I’m doing the easy stuff.’
‘Anything, Jimmy . . . Anything that doesn’t make sense get right back to me. I guarantee that if there’s a problem, we’ll get the call to stick to the remit and back off. As it stands we’re still doing the job but barely inside the lines.’
Macallan returned to the room and saw that some of the colour had been restored to Adams’ face, and they both knew there was no going back. He couldn’t have the life he wanted without revealing the darkest secret of all. The one he’d never been able to forget. His memory contained the faces of few of the men he’d hurt in his life, just blurred images and patches of red. Sometimes he remembered the sounds they’d made as they’d groaned and begged for relief, but not the faces, unless it was someone he’d known well. Occasionally it had been one of the team he’d worked with. It was just a fact of life that some of them fucked up or grassed to the law, and his job had been to hand out whatever sentence Slab came up with.
‘Okay,’ Macallan said, ‘let’s get back to work. If I’m being honest, it might be there’s not much we can do about the other robberies but there you go.’ She waited and watched Adams weigh everything like the old pro he was.
‘Look, nothing changes. Goggsy’s a goner, and I can’t make a bit of difference now. I don’t go in the box, and if anyone asks I still deny this. Nothin’ the polis can do to me that’ll hurt me now. I don’t give a shit about the other dealers losin’ gear – I’m here about Tommy and Brenda.’
Macallan sighed – she didn’t want to lose whatever it was he had. She knew it might be the only chance to discover what had happened before Tommy McMartin’s suicide.
‘Go on, tell me the story about Mickey Dalton’s death,’ she said, careful to avoid the word murder in case it spooked him.
For a moment he said nothing, and she watched a small tic start at the edge of his left eye. Breaking the habit of a lifetime was clearly putting him under enormous strain – grassing was easy once you’d done it a few times, but the first one was always hard.
‘Tommy didn’t kill Mickey Dalton.’
He let the words hang in the air before he spoke again. Macallan felt the muscles in her jaw tighten. Here it was, a small window into the events of the past. Danny Goldstein and Andy Holden had believed Tommy when there wasn’t a shred of evidence to support his story, but it was those age-old instincts beyond explanation that had told them the truth. Given the nature of their positions both those men should have humoured Tommy but never believed a word.
‘How do you know this?’
‘I was there. Well, I drove Brenda to the job. She went in an’ done the thing herself an’ I stayed in the car. I was with Crazy Horse the few days before it an’ we scouted the boy Dalton. No one told me why. “Just do the fuckin’ job,” was all I got. Watched him, an’ I remember Crazy Horse nearly pissed himself when we seen the boy meetin’ up wi’ Tommy. It was a set-up but don’t ask me why. I wasn’t told, but they did it and set Tommy up for it. Seemed weird at the time because Tommy was a star, but in my game, you just never know.’
‘Tell me more. If that’s it then given Tommy and Crazy Horse are dead and Brenda’s unlikely to admit anything, it remains just a story.’
Adams looked slightly annoyed. Like most criminals he thought sufficiency of evidence in their world was the same as the law of the land. Macallan saw it and worked to keep him going in the right direction.
‘We need more. Something that I can investigate. Pain in the arse but it’s the way the system works.’
‘Your side were involved. Brenda made a call to Slab when she came back to the car. I heard her talking, and it sounded like Slab was going to call some suit. Don’t know who he was but she made the call that night. Told Slab to get the troops to go to the flat. I’ll never forget it.’
Macallan tried to work the information quickly and decide where to go with Adams. It was hard to know if this would fly, and she could imagine trying to get anyone interested in what an unnamed source had told her would be difficult. Unnamed sources came up with theories every day, and almost all of them were a waste. The trouble with this one was that she believed every word. She rolled the dice.
‘You sure you won’t give evidence?’
‘One hundred per cent. I’ve told you what happened. You do what you want with it.’
‘What about registering you as a CHIS?’
‘Not goin’ to happen, Superintendent.’
Macallan leaned back and stretched her back, which felt like someone had turned her muscles into reef knots. ‘Can I talk to you again if I need to?’
He nodded and seemed relieved.
‘There’s somethin’ else I need to tell you,’ he added. He didn’t wait because it was what really burned inside him. In another life, he might have kept the story about Mickey Dalton’s murder and taken it to his grave. After all, what difference did it make after Tommy’s death? But this he needed to get off his chest.
‘Big Brenda’ll take a few with her before she gets her ticket stamped. Woman’s a mess an’ been fucked up since she was a kid. Years ago, when she was still in her teens, I got a call from Slab an’ drove him to the river. He was pissed an’ ravin’ like he’d lost the plot. Know what I mean? We were gettin’ rid of a bairn. It was wrapped up in a sheet, but there was blood. Picked up Slab and the wean at his place, but Brenda was there, moanin’ an’ greetin’ when we took the thing away. Can’t get away from that night. It was a fuckin’ sin.’
Adams turned grey as he told the story and began to shake with emotion. Macallan leaned back in her chair, trying to absorb what had been said. Another horror story. Something that had happened on a dark night years ago and nearly lost in time, but it was something even a man like Adams couldn’t handle, couldn’t explain and coul
dn’t carry any longer.
‘Whose kid?’
‘Don’t know, Superintendent, but had to be in the family, if you know what I mean? Christ, maybe it was Slab’s – these things happen. Slab never told me, an’ I was his right-hand man back then. Truth is, I don’t think he would’ve called me if he’d been sober. Only mentioned it once and said if I ever talked about it he’d pour a can of petrol over me and light it himself. He’d do it too. Anyway, he was the boss an’ we’d been through a lot so I never needed a warnin’. After that he was never the same wi’ me. Eventually he had the turn and then I was punted onto Brenda’s team. He hardly ever spoke to her an’ Crazy Horse unless it was work, but fuck knows what it was all about.’
Adams leaned forward, clasped his hands to his face and sobbed for the first time he could remember. Macallan felt weak and unable to make the right decision. Horror: it existed everywhere. People went about their lives and rarely came across it, but it was always there, just waiting in the shadows.
She leaned over and gripped the back of Adams’ hand for a moment, told him she was taking a break and went outside where there was a cold weak sun trying to burn through the haar that had drifted over the old city of Perth.
She leaned back against a wall and tried deep breathing. What had she said to McGovern? Routine. The job was routine. She shook her head and tried to look forward. If Adams refused to repeat a word it might all be useless, but she’d try and find out what she could.
She asked herself who the truth was for and wasn’t sure she liked the answer. It was as much for herself as anyone else, because no one would really care if all she came up with was a history lesson, but Adams’ story meant Big Brenda might be both a culprit and a victim.
It didn’t matter – she had to try and find out. Along the way she might work out whether or not it was true that a suit was involved on the night of Mickey Dalton’s murder.
She went back inside. Adams’ colour was still ashen, but he’d composed himself.
‘Have to go, Superintendent. Make sure Bobo’s okay and that Brenda doesn’t start her own wee war.’
‘One last thing then. According to our intelligence no one knows where she is. Any ideas?’
‘I’m the only one who does know that one, Superintendent. See, I was her driver until last week, and she treated me like a numpty. Trouble was she almost forgot who I really was until I decked her. Drove her there a few times and that would be her safe house. Think she liked to go there when she was down. That happened a few times. Can’t remember the number but I can give you directions. When you get there, it stands on its own so no chance of missin’ it.’
He gave Macallan the directions and then wrote them down for her in her notebook. She had to check them back with him because the writing was almost illegible.
‘Don’t suppose you have a phone number for her as well? We have a number, but it doesn’t seem to be used that much. Seems like she has a spare safe one. No more than I’d expect.’
‘No problem.’ Adams looked pleased that the information he’d given had pushed her buttons. All he wanted was to stop Brenda before she did any more damage, and especially if it involved Bobo. ‘There’s only two or three people know this number so chances are she’ll still have it.’
Adams scribbled the number into her notebook, and this time she could just about decipher it without help.
When Adams stood up, Macallan offered her hand, which he took briefly but avoided eye contact. It had dawned on him that he’d let her see too much of what he was carrying and he felt ashamed.
Macallan got back into the car, called McGovern and asked him how it was going. He said he’d put her on to Young, who wanted to speak to her.
‘What’ve you got, Felicity?’
‘Well, perhaps nothing, but you wanted to know if anything seemed to be missing that should be there. We started with the phone records and there might be something or nothing. The investigation team did the usual and got phone records for both Mickey Dalton and Tommy. The thing is they appear to have requested the subscribers for most numbers but not all. There seems to be a pattern, and one number in particular that Dalton was in touch with roughly once a month at first and then more often until about four weeks before the murder. Then the intel runs out. To be fair, it could be that they had their culprit straightaway so they maybe just cut some corners – there’s nothing too unusual about that. I’m also tempted to say some sheets are missing, but again that may be nothing.’
Macallan didn’t want to start charging down blind alleys but it felt worth following up. ‘See how it compares to the stuff Danny Goldstein gave us. Keep at it and we’ll have a meet first thing in the morning in Glasgow. See you then. Oh, and could you put Jimmy on?’
She gave McGovern the directions to Brenda McMartin’s safe house and asked him to track down the full address and any information on the house. ‘Make sure no one knows about this information till I decide how to play it. By the way, I think I have a phone number for Brenda. Do the necessary and see what comes back.’
She headed back to Edinburgh, her mind swimming with the options and possible bear traps she would have to navigate to get to the truth.
As Macallan made her way home, intelligence officers were analysing what had been recovered from the locus at Bellshill. They had the phones taken from Woods, McManus and Abe Logan. These numbers were always a rich source of intelligence, and the safe number for Brenda McMartin was in Woods’ phone. They hadn’t realised it yet, but it was only a matter of time.
48
Brenda McMartin had nearly chain-smoked her way through a packet of twenty watching the front gate of Slab’s home. She’d never thought of him as her old man or plain old Dad, just Slab. That summed him up well enough as far as she was concerned. She didn’t mind waiting, as there wasn’t much else she could do now apart from sit in her own place and listen for the sound of intruders. She was even past caring about that and had started to put on her favourite band, The Proclaimers. Pity the boys came from the east, she often thought, but she forgave them given the pleasure she got from the music and particularly the lyrics, which she thought never got the cred they deserved.
‘Bring it on,’ she kept mumbling over and over again. She was holding conversations with herself about what was to come; her marbles were coming loose and scattering in all directions.
It was nearly 10 p.m. when a woman wearing a long dark coat left the house and closed the door behind her. She was Slab’s sister-in-law, lived nearby and as far as Brenda was concerned she was the human equivalent of a starving vulture. She helped look after Slab between visits from his carers. It was her job to check him in the evenings, but Brenda was sure she was robbing the old gangster for everything she could get her hands on. She was supposed to sit with Slab till the next carer arrived but Brenda knew she fucked off for a couple of hours before the relief came.
‘Fuckin’ cow!’ she snarled, thinking it would be good to set fire to her place when she was in it, but she had enough to deal with. ‘Maybe in the next life, girl.’ She hissed the words in a stream of tobacco smoke.
Slab had really pissed off the whole family by refusing to die year after year; in fact, all he’d done was make sure the organisation and family collapsed in on itself. Brenda hadn’t seen him for weeks, but every so often she’d sit outside at night and watch the place for hours. Occasionally she would go in and visit because she knew seeing her really wound him up. Brenda had hoped that her just being there might bring on a fatal stroke, but no luck so far. For years the only time they’d talked was if he had a job for her, or Crazy Horse when he was alive, and they were no more than staff who excelled at violence as far as he was concerned. He would be pissed off if he knew it was her pulling the rip-offs and dragging the name McMartin through the sewers, but then again, she thought he might have already worked that one out. Where once they’d been feared and respected, there was nothing left but ruin and dead men.
She waited, had
another smoke and took as much time as she needed to be sure that she could have some quality time with Slab. It was time to say goodbye to the man she despised more than any human being she’d ever met. That was saying something, but this was a special night for her and the man inside the beautiful old red-stone villa. He’d come a long way; she remembered the stories of how he had battled and knifed his way through the gangs to take their family to a style of living that was a universe away from the concrete disaster areas they’d been brought up in.
Nothing was moving in the street, and she figured that the neighbours should be pretty well settled in for the night. It didn’t really matter because she didn’t intend to cause a racket. For such a big woman, she was incredibly light on her feet, and like a true pro she inspected the perimeter of the house, just in case. Even though she knew he was on his own till the next carer came in or he pressed his alarm, she checked for problems.
When she was satisfied she stood at the back of the house and let the cool night air and sounds wash over her. Blend with the night before you make your move – that’s what the old gangsters had taught her and Crazy Horse when they were learning the trade.
If necessary she would break in, but she wanted to check other possibilities first and knew the old bastard always insisted on having fresh air in the bedroom both in summer and the coldest of winters. He said it was how he’d lived as a boy and it had helped make him strong.
She managed to get onto the solid wooden roof of the conservatory and then climbed the few feet up to the balcony outside Slab’s room. The French windows were slightly open, and Brenda smiled towards the dim light visible through the heavy curtains that puffed occasionally in the light night air.
She crouched down again and waited for a full two minutes. All her senses were searching for warnings, making sure he was really alone and that some unexpected visitor hadn’t turned up in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Where No Shadows Fall Page 24