Old Friends and New Enemies

by Owen Mullen

  Crown Square was all that remained. There was nowhere else.

  The Square was the centrepiece of the castle and the only real memory I had of that wasted school trip. The crown jewels were kept here, and the Stone of Destiny; one of my countless disagreements with my father had been over where the Stone should rest. Patriotism meant nothing now. The Square was busier than any other area I’d been in. Apart from two narrow passages between the buildings there was no way out. Easy meat.

  I edged into the centre space. They didn’t rush, why would they? Kevin Rafferty strolled into the Square, enjoying himself. His mate covered the only other exit. Tour guides rattled out facts about the precious Honours of the Kingdom, Mary Queen of Scots and the controversial Stone. Rafferty flexed his fingers, bared uneven teeth and came towards me.

  He shook his head, feigning regret. I tensed, expecting them to attack. Kevin was having too much fun for it to be over just yet. Another tour group led by a yellow umbrella gathered in the space between us. Nobody noticed the drama. Rafferty toyed with me.

  ‘Gave you plenty of chances, Charlie, plenty of chances, can’t say we didn’t. My father was sure you knew what that thieving bastard did with the money. I’d have brought you in for a chat a month ago. Sean said no. Jimmy said...’

  A tremendous boom interrupted his soliloquy. Everybody ducked their heads, caught off balance. It was one o’clock, the ships in Leith harbour were getting their time check; the break I needed, I crashed through the tourists, through the gap at the corner and raced down the slope. Ahead, a troop of soldiers going towards the Esplanade marched with flawless precision, their buttons glinting in the sun; cameras and camcorders captured the show. I walked in-step beside them past the gatehouse out to the grandstands.

  For a moment I actually believed I’d got away. I ran.

  Right into Jimmy Rafferty.

  He was standing in front of me leaning on a walking stick, older than in the picture on the steps of the High Court – I guessed in his seventies; his hair was white and had thinned. In spite of the sunshine he wore a long black winter coat.

  And he wasn’t alone.

  Two men were at his side; neither acknowledged me although only days before, one of them had been charming the ladies and arguing for Fair Trade coffee growers in NYB. He was part of it. His eyes were cold, colder even than Jimmy Rafferty, and there was a resemblance to somebody I couldn’t place.

  Since Ash Wednesday my life had been turned upside down. Like living a bad dream. Surreal. Now, seeing him here, it went beyond that. It was crazy. Insane. Nothing was as it seemed; a mystery I was never going to solve.

  Kevin Rafferty came up behind me. ‘Have to admit he’s got balls, Jimmy. Got to give him that.’

  ‘Balls are ten a penny, Kevin. Who’d know that better than you?’

  He spoke to me. ‘You’re a big disappointment, Charlie. I really thought you could pull it off. The reports said you were smart. Got a lot of respect for smart people. Your father for instance, he’s an old bastard but he’s a smart old bastard. Can’t imagine he rates you. Thought you were having us at it at first. Realised you didn’t have a Scooby. Kevin was keen to meet you; he’s a boy people tell their secrets to. I said no. Give Charlie the full measure. Give Charlie a chance. If he knows where the money is he’ll lead us to it, if not he’ll find it for us. Respect see. Intelligence deserves respect.’

  They watched me the way a boy watches a bee in a jar, curious, without pity. To my left the city of Edinburgh rolled away as far as Cramond Shore and the Firth of Forth, and in the distance the bridges spanning the water to the Kingdom of Fife shimmered in the haze. An epic view, one to remember for the rest of your life. Not very long in my case.

  I looked for security. No sign. If I had parked in somebody’s space they’d be all over me. Jimmy Rafferty said, ‘Saw you were making heavy weather of it. Gave you a wee incentive. Show him, Sean.’

  Kevin’s brother put his hand in his pocket, took out a mobile and stabbed at it. My phone burst to life with the cheery jingle Fiona had put on it before she went to Spain. ‘Take it, Charlie, he said. ‘Might be important.’

  I read the message. Rafferty spoke to his sons as if I wasn’t there. ‘Mr Cameron finally gets it.’

  Two words on the screen.

  GUESS WHO?

  Kevin Rafferty smiled; this was too easy.

  He said, ‘Good try, Charlie. It was fun, for a while, wasn’t it? Playing the detective, thinking you were a step ahead.’

  He slapped my face because he could.

  ‘You’ve caused a lot of trouble, mate. Now we’ll do what we should’ve done at the start. Selkirk was a clown. The woman was the clever one. Whole fucking thing was her idea.’

  His face was inches from mine. I smelled cheap wine. Over his shoulder Scotland’s capital city sparkled. ‘Nothing like doing a clever woman, is there?’

  I snapped and butted him with all the force I had. He was so confident I caught him off-guard. Blood exploded from his nose. He was going down when I hit him again; the second blow knocked him backwards. His head cracked against the ground.

  A party of Japanese were yammering away, cameras clicking, oblivious. Jimmy Rafferty pulled a gun from his pocket. ‘You fuckin’ bastard! You bastard! Kevin wanted to sort you out early doors. I wouldn’t let him. She said Selkirk told you. The last thing she said. Why I let you be.’

  He spat and aimed the gun at me. His hand trembled. ‘Never trust a woman, eh, Charlie?’

  That was when Roberto shot him in the temple.

  A silencer muffled the sound but not the horror. Two more bullets shared between them made certain the Raffertys would never get up. And I remembered where I’d seen those eyes: on a crumpled fax in my office. Emil Rocha’s cold stare. Sebastian.

  Sean Rafferty came forward, he’d played no part. His father and brother were dead yet he seemed calm. Roberto spoke to him. ‘My uncle is a forgiving man. It wouldn’t be wise to disappoint him again.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  Sean looked down at Jimmy. ‘“Those who know don’t speak.” Got that from you.’

  To Roberto he said, ‘Tell Emil the east end is under new management, thanks to him.’

  He turned and faded into the crowd.

  Roberto paused, unhurried. ‘You were unlucky, Charlie. Got caught up in something that wasn’t your concern. Rafferty’s job was to find the thief and the woman. Sebastian’s woman. He had other ideas. Selkirk would’ve told us everything if the idiots hadn’t killed him too soon. By the time I arrived in Scotland she had vanished and you were involved.

  ‘Jimmy told us he didn’t know where they were. He lied. Kevin killed her, just like Selkirk. That wasn’t what Sebastian hired them to do. For weeks they’ve been denying it, hoping you would take them to the money.’

  ‘Why come to NYB?’

  ‘In case she came back. The Raffertys had lost, Sean realised that and offered a new arrangement. He owns Glasgow now.’

  ‘And Sebastian owns him. That’s what this has all been about?’

  ‘For Sebastian, yes. She was his. The money was nothing, except to that piece of crap on the ground.’

  ‘But she deceived him. She deceived me.’

  ‘She was still his woman. How she should be punished was for my uncle to decide. Say goodbye to Jackie for me. And go somewhere else for your holidays, Spain’s out. Understand?’

  Tyres screeched. Car doors slammed. Uniformed police were running towards me. Andrew Geddes got there first, Pat Logue behind him.

  There was no sign of Roberto.

  Detective Inspector Platt bent over Jimmy Rafferty, feeling for a pulse he wouldn’t find. I said, ‘Cut it a bit fine, didn’t you?’

  Andrew placed a hand on my shoulder. ‘Knew you had it under control, Charlie. Is it over?’

  ‘It’s over.’

  ‘So now I can get some sleep instead of freezing my balls off in Cleveden Drive.’

  ‘That was you?’
r />   ‘Patrick told me they’d given you one more week. We took it in turns to be your guardian angel. I drew the short straw. Night shift.’

  ‘You sneaked by me at NYB,’ Pat Logue said. ‘Chased you across George Square with Rafferty’s goons. I shouted to you. You didn’t hear me.’

  ‘I heard, I assumed it was them.’

  ‘Andrew got a hold of DI Platt. We had no idea if you’d get off somewhere. As a place to hide Edinburgh was a better bet. We caught the next train, twenty minutes after you. Quickest way. The others took the motorway, made good time as well. Andrew phoned ahead. They missed you at Waverley.’

  Patrick tapped the tartan scarf. ‘Easy to see why. You’re a master of disguise, Charlie.’

  Platt didn’t ask after my health. He said, ‘Jimmy and Kevin Rafferty are dead. Who killed them?’ I let his question go unanswered. ‘I’m taking you to the station. Looking forward to hearing your version.’

  Andrew stepped in. ‘He’ll travel with me, Detective Inspector. Charlie’s the victim here, let’s remember that. He isn’t suspected of any crime, or is there something I’m missing?’

  Policemen were already cordoning-off the scene. At the gatehouse two interview points had been set up, everyone leaving had to give their name, address and proof of identity. Some unlucky coppers had their work cut out. All for nothing: Emil Rocha’s nephew had already walked right past them.

  The drive from Edinburgh to Glasgow seemed to last for days. From the front seat Andrew leaned over and spoke to me. ‘Platt’s agreed to interview you when you’ve recovered, and I want you to listen this time. Don’t fuck him about. He hasn’t got the result he wanted. He still isn’t happy. And he doesn’t like you, Charlie.’

  Patrick said, ‘Good guys two, bad guys nil. What more does he want?’

  ‘He has three bodies, Ian Selkirk and the Raffertys, but the drug money is still out there.’

  ‘Four. Fiona’s dead.’

  ‘Sorry, Charlie.’

  Andrew carried on. ‘What happened wasn’t down to Platt. Not much Nigel can take credit for. It was Charlie who brought it into the open. Just watch yourself, that’s all.’

  At Newhouse a sign said GLASGOW 12 MILES. The city filled the horizon. The sun had made it through; it was a fine afternoon. I closed my eyes. When I opened them I was home. They let me go without a word and drove away. There was nothing to say.

  Thirty-Six

  I ran the shower as hot as I could stand it and stayed under for twenty minutes.

  To Jimmy Rafferty, it had all been about money. Sean Rafferty was the exception; he saw an opportunity to take over. DI Platt needed to find it to salvage his career, and I guessed Ian needed it because Fiona said so.

  As for Fiona? She just wanted it.

  It changed everything for all of them. That’s what money does.

  Like my father with Perry Sommerville I had learned that old friends or new friends, people were just people. And some of them lied.

  I unplugged the phone and turned off my mobile. The world would have to wait. It would be there when I was ready. I went to bed, pulled the clothes over my head and slept. The car with the dodgy exhaust woke me. I went to the lavatory, then to the fridge, poured a glass of milk and back to bed. That routine or something like it survived for three days. As for Patrick, I had a feeling he didn’t live here anymore. On the fourth day I threw on a t-shirt and jeans and lay on the sofa. I didn’t play music or read, I just lay there. No thoughts, no emotions; I was numb. When night came I welcomed the darkness.

  And so it went on.

  One morning I was startled by a hammering on the door. For a moment I imagined the Raffertys had come for me, then the memory of Edinburgh Castle flooded in. I wouldn’t have answered except whoever it was kept on.

  A woman shouted through the letterbox. ‘Charlie! Charlie!’ It was Jackie.

  I opened the door a fraction. ‘What do you want?’

  She didn’t hesitate. ‘You,’ she said. ‘Let me in.’

  The first thing she did was hug me, tight, for a long time. After that she opened the windows and camped in the kitchen. I heard the splash and sizzle of bacon and eggs. She set it in front of me. ‘Eat it,’ she said. ‘Eat it all. Then get dressed, we’re going.’

  ‘Going where, Jackie?’

  ‘To the land of the living, Charlie.’

  Jackie asked no questions on the drive, knowing I’d tell her when it felt right. I said, ‘What day is it, I’ve lost track?’

  ‘Monday. Missed a stonking weekend. A hundred and five covers Friday and Saturday. Seventy odd last night, and downstairs was rammed.’

  To please her I pretended to be interested. ‘Good.’

  ‘Alex says if he stuck a tenner to it he could pay the VAT.’

  She dropped me on Cochrane Street. ‘Mail’s on your desk,’ she said. ‘See you soon.’

  The Big Issue guy wasn’t around. I wanted to thank him. NYB was mid-morning empty; a new barman had taken Roberto’s place; I hoped his uncle was a carpet fitter in Paisley. The mail was where Jackie said, Cecelia McNeil’s latest epistle on top. After what I’d been through it seemed like the most natural thing in the world, I took a strange kind of comfort from it.

  * * *

  Dear Mr Cameron,

  I’ve had some good fortune. I’ve sold the house. The buyer is anxious to take possession quickly so I’ll be moving out in a matter of weeks. I still haven’t received an invoice. I can’t go without paying you. It wouldn’t be right. Please let me know the amount. And have a happy Easter.

  Yours, Cecelia McNeil.

  * * *

  They say there’s always somebody worse off than yourself. Mrs McNeil had lost a son and a husband yet she was starting again, putting her unhappiness aside. It was an example I could learn from.

  The jungle drums were working overtime. Andrew stuck his head round the door.

  ‘Glad you’re here Charlie. Talk later. Give Platt a ring and finish it. Our Nigel’s moving on. He can’t hurt you now.’

  I did as he asked. DI Platt wasn’t there. I left a message. Patrick Logue was next. A flying visit, same as Andrew. He held his well known curiosity in check. I noticed he’d had a haircut. ‘All right, mate?’

  I pointed to his head.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘if they catch the guy who did it he’ll get sixty days. Got an interview on Wednesday. First impressions and all that.’

  ‘What’s the job?’

  ‘Security.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘House of Fraser.’

  I wanted to laugh. ‘Cutting out the middle man?’

  ‘Just coincidence. Steppin’ into the mainstream. Gail wants us to buy a house. That takes a steady pay.’

  ‘Gail? Thought it was over with you?’

  ‘Not quite. We’re in the middle of full and frank discussions.’

  ‘Does she want you back?’

  ‘She’s thinkin’ about it.’

  He left without asking anything about Edinburgh. Patrick was changing.

  Detective Inspector Platt was the final visitor of the day. Jackie buzzed and told me he was on his way up. His recent success hadn’t improved his disposition; his heart wasn’t in it. He was almost civil, and most of what I told him he already knew. Towards the end his bitterness bubbled to the surface.

  ‘You won’t have me on your back much longer, I’m leaving Scotland.’

  ‘Going where?’

  ‘Haven’t decided. Back down south.’

  ‘But you brought Jimmy Rafferty down.’

  ‘Did I? A couple of dead gangsters don’t get many brownie points these days. What I managed were four murders. Your old chums and the Raffertys, a hit man running around the capital, and five million pounds of drug money unaccounted for.’

  He was a difficult person to feel sorry for yet I did. I said, ‘You were wrong about me. My connection with Ian Selkirk was ancient history.’

  He scorned my innocence. ‘I despise peo
ple like you. Your life is based on who you know, and how you can use that knowledge.’

  ‘You’re confusing me with my father.’

  ‘Am I? If Selkirk had told you where the money was, what would you have done? Turned it over to the police? I doubt it.’

  He was right to doubt it. Turned it over? Yes. To Jimmy Rafferty.

  ‘You couldn’t have resisted. You’d have disappeared with your girlfriend. Oh I forgot, she wasn’t your girlfriend, was she? Need to be more choosy next time, Charlie.’

  Detective Inspector Platt was a nasty bastard. And a sore winner. He stood. ‘I may have to speak to you again, so...’

  ‘Don’t leave town?’

  His jaw line twitched, the rodent eyes narrowed. ‘Something like that.’

  Later that night I tried the TV. Great picture, surround sound, a marvel of technology. Pity I couldn’t find anything worth watching.

  On Tuesday I followed Pat’s example and got my hair cut, went to the supermarket and paid a few bills. Whenever Fiona Ramsay came into my head I fought the thoughts away; nothing good lay down that road. My mother phoned with news. Perry was dead, and yes, it was for the best, and no, my father hadn’t gone to visit him. I kept my opinion to myself. More importantly, she was feeling better and that was all that mattered.

  Patrick Logue was on a high on Wednesday afternoon – he hadn’t got the job.

  ‘Over qualified. That’s what they said.’

  ‘How’s Gail taking it?’

  ‘Gutted. She’ll get over it once it sinks in her husband is over qualified.’

  He rolled his shoulders. ‘I’m happy the way things are. I do okay.’ He put his hand in his pocket. ‘What’re you up to on Sunday?’

  ‘Easter Sunday. No plans. You?’

  He drew out a green and white ticket. ‘Old Firm are playin’ at Celtic Park. Scottish Cup quarter final. Biggest game of the season. Fancy giving it one last go?’

  * * *