Crow Bait

by Douglas Skelton

  No, he couldn’t leave just yet. But he had to get Davie out of the flat, preferably away from the city, away from what he knew.

  And he’d just thought of one final piece to move.

  * * *

  Davie flicked at the curtain and stared down into the street below. He was in his bedroom, in the dark, because he needed a few minutes to himself. Donovan was in the living room, talking on the phone to his old boss. He needed his help in keeping the brass off his neck while he tried to make sense of what Danny McCall was up to. Davie understood now that Donovan’s heart was in the right place, even if he was a cop. Davie was in the frame for the assault on Vari, but Donovan knew he had nothing to do with it. Even so, he needed some heavyweight backing to explain why he had taken a suspect out of another station without a single charge being lodged.

  Davie did not recognise the car pulling away from the closemouth, nor could he see who was at the wheel. He watched it move down Sword Street and then turn out of sight. For a few seconds after it vanished he still watched, something fluttering at the edge of his consciousness.

  A knock at his bedroom door made him turn. Donovan pushed the door open and nodded at him. ‘It’s all sorted, Jack Bannatyne will clear everything. But he says we’d better bring something concrete pretty quick, Davie. This is all highly irregular, you being involved. As far as anyone at London Road or Pitt Street are concerned, you’re assisting me with my inquiries and I’ve got you in protective custody.’

  Davie understood. He didn’t want to be working with a cop either, the fear of being labelled a grass deeply ingrained. Davie knew he would have to speak to Rab as soon as possible, make sure he knew the score. He didn’t need to be watching his back for that as well as remaining alert for his father’s next move.

  * * *

  Les Fraser was known as a bright lad, ambitious but scrupulously honest, which did not endear him to the Black Knight, who viewed the scrupulously honest with deep suspicion. Life was what you took from it and any cop who didn’t take a little here and there was not to be trusted. Knight felt more comfortable in the company of men like Rab McClymont, who tended to take with both hands and when that wasn’t enough brought in a bloody huge digger. Nevertheless, he had nothing in particular against the young cop, now a DC at Stewart Street. He was just going to ruin his night.

  Knight walked into the sixties-style station and flashed his warrant card, saying he was popping through to CID to see a mate. The officer at the uniformed bar barely lifted his face from the paperwork in front of him and let him through. Knight saw Les Fraser leaning back in his chair, sharing a joke with an older colleague, and realised it must be a slow night. The young cop saw him moving purposefully towards him and frowned. ‘DS Knight, isn’t it?’

  ‘Good memory, son,’ said Knight, giving the older colleague a look that told him to back off. The detective turned to his desk and made himself busy. ‘Need a word.’

  Les’s brow crinkled further but he led Knight to a deserted corner of the room. ‘What’s up?’

  Knight made a show of hesitating before he spoke. ‘This isn’t easy for me, son, but I feel you should know…’ He stopped again, all part of the act. The truth was, he was relishing what he was about to do.

  ‘Know what?’ The younger man’s voice grew slightly strained as his concern heightened.

  ‘Don’t know how to put this, so I’ll just come right out and say it, one cop to the other – one man to the other.’ He paused again for dramatic effect. ‘Did you know your wife was seeing an old boyfriend?’

  Les Fraser’s face remained blank as he soaked in the meaning of the words. ‘What do you mean, seeing an old boyfriend?’

  ‘Fella by the name of Davie McCall. Heard of him?’ Fraser shook his head. ‘Wee scroat, hard man, likes to be anyway. Him and Audrey were quite a hot number a few years back. She never tell you?’ Fraser didn’t reply, but Knight saw his jaw beginning to work. ‘He’s out the jail now and she’s been seen with him more’n once.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ said Fraser, his voice ragged.

  ‘Sorry, son, but I saw them myself, in his flat over in Sword Street. Now, I don’t want to see a promising young cop like you having his future in doubt cos his wife’s shagging an evil wee scroat.’

  Fraser spun abruptly and took a few steps away. Then he halted and Knight saw his shoulder slump. Christ, I hope he’s not going to lose it, he thought. Can’t handle a man crying. But when the young man turned back his face was set in hard lines. ‘You done, Detective Sergeant?’

  ‘Listen, mate, I’m sorry to be the one that –’

  ‘Cos I’ve got work to do, you know?’ He sounded tough, but Knight heard a catch in his voice. He nodded and Fraser walked back to his desk, his shoulders sagging. Knight struggled with the small smile that was determined to tickle his lips. He wanted to pay back that reporter bitch for pissing him off the other day – and McCall, for that matter. He walked out of the CID room, confident his work here was done.

  29

  RAB’S FACE STUNG from the slap Connie delivered when he took Bobby home. He’d been patched up by their pet GP. The doctor had been unwilling to treat the wound, but Rab had been insistent, a trip to the hospital not being on the cards. A gunshot wound raised a number of questions that Rab was unwilling to answer. After all, there were two bodies somewhere between Glasgow and Girvan that may surface at some point in the future. It had cost a little extra, but the doctor finally agreed. Luckily, the wound was a through and through, into the fleshy part of one butt cheek and out the other, leaving no serious damage. A lot of blood and a heap of pain, but no permanent harm.

  Once they had settled Bobby into bed, face down, his backside a mound of bandages and his body filled with painkillers, Rab and Connie returned downstairs where she whirled and lashed out with the slap that rent the air like a gunshot. ‘You bastard,’ she said. Rab rubbed his face and was about to argue back but she went on, ‘Don’t say a fucking word, Rab McClymont, not one single, solitary syllable. You could have got my Bobby killed…’

  ‘Was never gonnae happen,’ ventured Rab, still massaging his stinging cheek. Forewarned was forearmed, thanks to Knight.

  She hit him again, this time with her left. It was just as painful as her right. ‘Get out,’ she said. ‘Get out now and don’t ever come back.’

  Rab, both sides of his face burning with the force of the blows and his rising anger, stared back at her. He wanted to wrap his fist round her throat and pummel her for treating him like that. He’d never let a man demean him in that way, he sure as hell wouldn’t stand for a bint doing it. But he didn’t move, Joe’s old teachings holding him back.

  Connie’s anger was subsiding now and she began to tremble slightly as the tears welled up. ‘Just go,’ she said, then added, ‘please.’

  Rab stared at her but decided against saying anything in his defence. The truth was he had been confident that neither of them had been in any danger from Mulvey and that the bullet Bobby took was just a wee stroke of bad luck. The doc had said he’d be fine in a few weeks, hadn’t he? And it could’ve been a lot worse. She should be happy he’s not dead. But Rab said nothing as he brushed past her and walked into the new day.

  * * *

  Les Fraser didn’t know how he got through the rest of his shift. He swore to himself that he didn’t believe what Knight had said. Yet it kept eating at him. Why would he tell him something like that if there wasn’t something in it? What did he have to gain? And if Audrey was seeing this McCall character, and there was nothing in it, why hadn’t she ever told him about it?

  Somehow he reached finishing time and drove to their flat in Langside. The sky bore various gradations of grey and things were only to grow worse, the weather girl on the radio said, with high winds expected later in the day. They’d hit the west coast hard, she said, and ferries were already being cancelled. That was nothing to what was going to hit Langside if Jimmy Knight’s story was true, Les thought.

  T
he flat was silent when he let himself in. She was usually up and waiting for him when he came off night shift, a pot of coffee already made, Terry Wogan rabbiting cheerily on the radio. But this time there was nothing. He pushed the bedroom door open and glanced in, expecting to see her still asleep, but the room was empty, the bed made up, not slept in. He checked the living room and the kitchen but the flat had an empty feeling, as if no-one had been there for hours.

  He stood in the hallway, his mind filled with Knight’s words.

  Saw them myself...

  Sword Street...

  Saw them myself…

  He picked up the phone and dialled the number of a mate in London Road.

  * * *

  Davie blinked when Rab told him what Liam Mulvey had said about the man with the plan. Donovan had left just after midnight, telling Davie not to go anywhere or do anything without letting him know. ‘My neck’s on the line here,’ he said. ‘Don’t let me down.’ Davie promised him he would not.

  ‘So where did Mulvey say my father was staying?’ He asked after Rab had finished his story and he was certain Bobby was going to recover.

  ‘Ballantrae,’ said Rab. ‘A rented cottage.’

  Davie closed his eyes. The bastard, he thought, he’d gone back to the same place he used to take them on holiday. The same town, the same cottage. The bastard.

  When he opened his eyes he saw Rab watching him closely. ‘What do you want to do, Davie?’

  Davie’s voice was flat when he spoke. ‘Finish it,’ he said.

  * * *

  Donovan had been asleep for only five hours when Jack Bannatyne called him. His wife, Marie, grumbled at being disturbed but left him to answer it, knowing that it would be for him at that time of the morning. He snatched the receiver from the bedside table before the ringing could disturb their daughter Jessica in the next room.

  ‘We’ve got trouble, Frank,’ said Bannatyne, and Donovan felt his heart sink. ‘Just had a call from DCI John Flynn at London Road – you know him?’

  ‘We met once: a send-off in the police club.’

  ‘He’s a good mate of mine, knows of my interest in Vizzini and McCall and the others. He says a DC on his team just had a call from a DC Les Fraser at Stewart Street. He wanted McCall’s address.’

  ‘Oh, shit,’ said Donovan while thinking, Knight, you bastard. He knew Knight would do something.

  ‘What’s his interest, Frank?’

  ‘He’s married to Audrey Fraser, Audrey Burke that was. She used to be Davie McCall’s girl.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So we saw her with McCall the other day. She gave Knight a hard time.’

  Donovan heard the DCI breathing heavily down the phone. ‘Get back to McCall, Frank, and I mean right now. If you’re right and Jimmy’s done something stupid, then we need to defuse the situation.’

  Donovan had no doubt the use of the word ‘we’ actually meant only him. ‘Right away, sir,’ he said and hung up, already climbing out of bed.

  ‘Frank?’ Marie’s sleepy voice from the bed behind him.

  ‘Got to work, darling,’ he said. He heard her tut, but she merely rolled over and went back to sleep. Her father had been a cop. She knew the score.

  * * *

  Davie opened his front door to be met with a good-looking guy in his early thirties and a fist heading in his direction. He ducked under the blow and pushed the man away with both hands. The guy stumbled back a couple of paces before he righted himself and surged forward again, both hands outstretched and fingers tensed like claws, aiming at Davie’s head. Davie didn’t know who the hell he was, but he wasn’t about to waste a lot of time. So he jabbed with his right fist and connected with the guy’s nose. The man stopped as if he’d hit a wall and staggered back once more. But his anger was too great and he wasn’t about to let the punch stop him so on he came, his own right swinging towards Davie’s jaw. Davie could tell the guy was fit, but this was his world, and he easily dodged the blow to step in close, sinking a punch deep into the guy’s midriff. The man’s breath burst from his mouth with a groan and his back folded, but Davie wanted to end it there and so he turned his fist into a club and battered it down heavily to the side of the man’s head three times. Pain shot along his own arm, but the man went down to his knees then onto all fours, where he swayed unsteadily. Davie stepped back, prepared for another lunge but it looked like the guy had had enough. For the moment.

  Rab pounded up the hallway behind Davie. He stared down at the bloke retching on the landing and said, ‘What the fuck?’

  Davie shook his head, telling his pal he’d never seen the man before. ‘I think you picked the wrong guy, mate,’ said Rab.

  Les Fraser didn’t look up. He spat some blood that had seeped from his nose into his mouth and said, ‘Davie McCall.’

  Davie frowned and searched his memory for some clue as to who this bloke was but came up with nothing. ‘That’s me, but who are you?’

  ‘Fraser… Les Fraser,’ said the man and Davie understood.

  ‘Audrey’s man?’

  Les nodded and tried to draw himself to his feet, but he was still groggy. He sat back, falling squarely on his backside on the hard stone floor of the landing. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Not here.’

  Fraser gave his head another shake, as if trying to clear it, then wiped blood from his upper lip with the back of his hand. ‘Fuckin liar,’ he said with all the vehemence he could muster.

  ‘It’s gen up, pal,’ said Rab. ‘She’s no here.’

  Les Fraser looked up at the two of them, focussing on Davie. ‘Then where is she? Cos she’s not at home. And I know she’s been seeing you, so don’t deny it, ya bastard.’

  Davie felt something electric pulse through him. He glanced at Rab and said, ‘Help me get him inside.’

  * * *

  When Donovan arrived the three of them were sitting in Davie’s living room, Les Fraser with a wet tea cloth held to his nose. Rab McClymont looked distinctly uncomfortable in the company of two cops, but there was no way he was leaving Davie alone with them. Leave a boy alone with two of Strathclyde’s finest and who knew what they would claim? When Davie led him into the room, Donovan gave the other cop a serious glower. ‘What you doing here, DC Fraser?’

  The man didn’t respond, so Davie answered for him. ‘Audrey’s missing.’

  ‘What do you mean, missing?’

  Rab piped up, ‘She’s not at home, she’s not at work. Your man here thought she was with Davie.’

  ‘What happened to his nose?’ Donovan looked from one to the other but no-one had anything to say. He decided to let that lie. ‘Okay. She with friends, maybe?’ Fraser shook his head. ‘Parents? Relatives?’ Fraser looked pointedly at Donovan. Donovan sighed and turned to Davie. ‘So where is she?’

  Davie kept his face impassive and jerked his head towards the door. Donovan, his irritation very evident, tightened his lips then turned and walked quickly out, Davie at his back. In the hallway Donovan suddenly whirled as if he couldn’t help himself and snapped, ‘What the hell’s going on, McCall?’ Davie shook his head to convey not here before moving past the detective and leading him into the room lined with Joe Klein’s albums. Once the door was firmly closed, Donovan said, impatiently, ‘Well?’

  Davie turned to face him and said, softly, ‘He’s taken her.’

  Donovan didn’t need to ask who, he merely caught a breath and then said, ‘You can’t be certain of that.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Davie, ‘I can.’

  Donovan looked around the room for a phone. ‘Then we need to get help. I can’t deal with this on my own, not now. You got a phone in here?’

  ‘No phone calls,’ Davie said with such finality that Donovan brought the cop’s gaze back to him.

  ‘Davie, if you’re right, if he’s got Audrey…’ Donovan couldn’t bring himself to say anything further. He knew Audrey, he liked her. He also knew Danny McCall was a maniac.

  ‘He sees one uniform, A
udrey’s dead. I’ll get her back.’

  Donovan pulled himself erect. ‘This is a police matter, Davie, you can’t go careering off –’

  ‘It has to be me.’

  ‘I can’t let you.’

  ‘You can’t stop me.’

  They were facing each full on now, Donovan trying to use his slight height advantage to its fullest extent, but Davie didn’t notice. His face remained blank as he stared back at the cop. If the police were involved he would kill her, Davie was certain. If Davie turned up team-handed, he’d kill her.

  They heard the handle turn behind them and Les Fraser stood in the doorway, the tea cloth hanging in his hand at his side, blood crusting round his nostrils, bruising spreading under both eyes. Donovan looked past Davie at the younger cop and said, ‘Les…’

  Fraser ignored him and looked straight at Davie. ‘I’m coming with you.’

  Donovan stepped between them and said, ‘Look, Les, this is…’

  ‘He knows where she is, Frank. I’m going with him.’

  Donovan saw the cold, determined look in Fraser’s eyes and knew it was useless to stand in his way. He shrugged at Davie as if to say, he’s all yours, and stepped to one side. Davie gave the young detective a careful look. ‘It’s not a good idea,’ he said.

  ‘I’m going, simple as that.’

  ‘What I’m going to do… what I’m going to have to do… you can’t be involved. You’re a cop.’

  ‘I’m her husband,’ Fraser said. His words were soft but delivered with such force that they left a deafening silence in their wake. Davie studied the other man carefully. He could handle himself, he’d felt that during their brief encounter on the landing. Davie might’ve got the better of him, but Fraser had been fuelled by anger and that was never a good thing. But they were going up against Danny McCall and even Davie was unsure of the outcome. He shook his head.

  Fraser’s face was rock solid as he said, ‘Then you’d better knock me cold, Davie McCall, because if you don’t, the minute you’re gone, I’m following you. She’s mine, understand? My wife. Mine. She married me, not you. So get it done and truss me up but tie the knots tight because I’m coming after you.’