‘DC Dunn, please leave the room,’ said Daley, keeping his gaze fixed on Rainsford. Dunn stood, smoothed the front of her trousers, then departed.
‘Thank fuck you’re here, Jim,’ said Scott.
‘Shut up, Brian. May I remind you gentlemen that we have multiple murders, an apparent suicide and a missing girl to find, not to mention lights in the sky and all the rest that’s going on. I cannot believe I’ve walked in here to see my two senior detectives in these circumstances. Speak, DS Rainsford, and make it fucking good.’
Rainsford sat down and crossed his arms in front of his chest. ‘Sir, first let me say that I have been unhappy with certain aspects of the way you run the sub-division. I believe your casual approach has got us to where we are now.’ He nodded across the table to Scott.
‘What?’ Veins were beginning to show on Daley’s forehead.
‘Too often, matters of procedure and professional etiquette are ignored.’
Scott rubbed his chin. ‘I really wouldnae go there, if I was you, son. Trust me.’
‘See, this is what I mean. Here is this man, under arrest and being questioned, and you burst in and stop the whole thing. I will have no choice other than to take this matter further, along with other matters pertaining to personnel in this office.’
‘Meaning?’ Daley asked, standing over Rainsford now, as Scott grimaced at the other side of the table.
‘If I need to spit it out, I will.’ Rainsford rose from behind the desk again and stared directly into Daley’s face. ‘Your conduct with DC Dunn is not only unprofessional, it is unacceptable. I have been wrestling with my conscience for some time over this; now is the time for action.’
Daley leaned on the table with both arms outstretched, his head bowed like a boxer on the ropes, struggling to regain his composure after being battered by his opponent.
‘Get oot, son,’ said Scott, looking up at the younger man. ‘Honestly, get oot while you can!’
‘Yes, I’ll get out – with great pleasure, in fact. But I’m going to report this sorry mess to a senior officer at division,’ said Rainsford, picking up his phone and notebook from the desk in front of him.
Daley lunged across the table at him, sending the recording equipment clattering to the floor. Rainsford, caught off guard, staggered backwards and thumped against the wall. Daley kicked away a chair and charged at the young detective, grabbing his neck and forcing him back as Scott tried desperately to get in between the two men.
Daley’s eyes were bulging, his teeth bared in anger, white against his crimson face. He leaned into Rainsford, his hand around the detective’s throat.
‘Jim, for fuck’s sake, calm doon!’ Scott shouted, doing his best to force Daley away from his quarry. ‘This’ll no’ sort anything oot.’
As Daley tightened his grip on Rainsford’s throat, the door swung open and Sergeant Shaw stuck his head into the room. ‘I have Edinburgh CID on the phone, sir. They say it’s urgent,’ he said nonchalantly, as though walking into a room to find his sub-divisional commander throttling a junior colleague was the most normal thing in the world.
Daley released his grip, and Rainsford began choking and gasping for the air he had been deprived of. ‘You two stay here!’ he said, as he left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Scott picked up one of the upturned chairs and put it in front of Rainsford. ‘Here, son, you better take a seat. You look as though you need it.’
‘That guy is certifiable,’ said Rainsford, still breathing heavily and rubbing the red weal on his throat.
‘Aye, well, I did try tae warn you. What have I telt you? Polis work’s no’ a’ done by the book, son. Aye, an’ it doesnae a’ come out of one neither. I’d nothing tae dae with that lassie, an’ that dope came fae Wiley, the journalist who just happened tae be in the hall as you so kindly arrested me.’
‘So? I acted on information and made an arrest based on the facts. I don’t regret any of it, and I intend to pursue it. Don’t think that DCI Daley will stop me.’
Scott picked up another chair and sat down. ‘Aye, best o’ luck, son. You saw what he was like there – just wait till he finds oot Wiley’s ready tae splash this all over the papers.’
John Donald had been up since five in the morning. For the first time in a long time, he had eschewed alcohol the night before and was now feeling the benefits. He had driven from his home in the north of Glasgow to this forest park on the outskirts of Aberfoyle. His journey had taken just under an hour, during which time he had listened to Mozart’s Requiem through the Audi’s top-end sound system. He’d parked the car under the green boughs of fir trees and left the engine on to listen to the sublime final bars of the piece. As it soared, he stared across the car park, dappled by sunlight.
He then left the car and, with the aid of a long hiking pole, took a narrow path up through the trees and onto the hill. After nearly half an hour of brisk climbing, he reached a clearing that looked down over the town of Aberfoyle and the glorious landscape beyond. Despite the early hour, the sun was beating down, and he had tied the light sweater he was wearing around his waist.
As birds called from the trees and small animals rustled through the undergrowth, he remembered the days when, in pursuit of adventure, and not least to escape the privations of their poor part of the city, he and his friends had cycled the few miles to the Campsie Fells. With no gears, cobbled together from recycled parts of discarded machines, the long hill that led to where they could stow their bikes made for an arduous climb. But to smell the country, to get away from the smog and smoke of the city, was well worth the effort.
He remembered his first night under the canvas of the old army tent that his friend’s father had provided. Though none of the five boys would admit to it, the silence scared them. As darkness descended and their campfire burned down to the embers, their gaze was drawn to the glow of the city’s lights. Soon though, as they got used to their surroundings, the Campsie hills became their escape, their haven. While the children of wealthier parents took the well-trodden holiday routes to Ayr or Largs or, for the lucky few, as far as impossibly distant Blackpool, the lads from the poor end of the scheme made do with the hills above their city; to them so strange and exotic they might as well have been standing on the moon.
As Donald looked south, across the tree-covered slopes and beyond the town, he could see the Campsie hills now; the sight of them made his heart beat stronger as memories of happier, more carefree days sprang brightly to mind, unbleached by the relentless passage of time.
Would he ever be that free again?
He took his phone from his pocket and stared down at its screen. He knew that the signal would be strong and clear. When he had to speak to the man who now haunted his every waking, every sleeping, moment, he preferred to do so here, where the harsh realities of the urban world beyond always seemed lessened, diminished by man’s primal need to return, especially in times of torment, to the hills and forests, to nature, where he had first been made flesh.
Within seconds of the designated time, the small device vibrated in his hand. He wavered, then accepted the call.
‘You can speak, yes?’ said the foreign voice on the other end, without the preamble of pleasantries.
‘Yes, I can. Now look, I—’
‘Be quiet. We all know how things are. We can help you, but first you have to help us.’
‘Look where helping you has got me. I want guarantees, not empty promises. If you think you’re going to sacrifice me, know that I will not go quietly, or alone. I have enough information to bring this whole fucking thing down.’
There was a brief silence, then the voice said, ‘We have this planned. You will be free, you will be rich, and you will have a new identity, far from the cares of your current world. But first we need you to perform one more task.’
Donald stared across the miles to the Campsie hills. From nowhere, a single dark cloud loomed over the undulating skyline, incongruous in the azure light.
>
‘What task?’ He was too exhausted, too fearful, to fight any more.
‘One of your colleagues is in possession of information that could damage us. Fortunately, he has chosen to keep this knowledge to himself. We must make sure that this continues to be the case.’
‘And who is this person?’
‘DCI Daley. He has to go.’
Donald took the phone from his ear for a moment and took long, deep breaths.
‘I refuse, I utterly refuse.’
‘You don’t have a choice. Daley is always with someone, he is hard to remove. We want you to arrange this. You will receive a text message with the details of when and where.’
‘And what if I won’t do it?’ Donald’s raised voice sent a crow flapping from a tree. ‘What if Daley doesn’t want to meet me? Did you think about that?’
‘You are persuasive, that is why we found you in the first place. But in this the choice is simple. One of you dies; I would prefer that it was Mr Daley. Fail me, and you will take his place.’
As the call clicked off, Donald sank to his knees, fallen pine needles pricking the skin through his trousers. Above, the sun shone, but in front of him, the dark cloud above the hills was spilling warm summer rain.
35
Daley was back in his glass box. He’d talked to Rainsford and Scott individually, and tried to pour oil on the troubled waters of Scott’s arrest and his own subsequent behaviour. Though the young DS had agreed to hold back on bringing official charges against Scott, he demanded to be allowed to investigate the case further and reserve the right to take action if or when appropriate. Reluctantly, he had accepted Daley’s apology, but made it plain that he would not take back his criticism of Daley’s management, or his relationship with DC Dunn.
In short, it was a problem kicked into the long grass – or it would be once Daley had spoken to the venal Wiley. In normal circumstances, he’d have been able to consult his senior officer, but Donald, now suspended, was nowhere to be found. He realised how much better the slippery Chief Superintendent would have been able to deal with this situation.
His door swung open. ‘The uniform boys have just picked up Wiley,’ said Scott. Daley could see the look of relief on his face. ‘Just gimme a few minutes wae him and I’ll sort all this oot.’
‘Shut the door,’ said Daley. With a sigh, Scott did as he was told and sat himself in front of his boss.
‘First, don’t think for one minute that this is over, or that you can go in there and strong-arm Wiley into forgetting what he saw this morning.’
‘He’s no’ filed the report, Jim. The hotel’s broadband was doon, so he couldnae get it away. The boys were just telling me. We’ve won a watch here, big man.’
Daley shook his head. ‘You don’t get it, do you? Everything’s changing, Brian. It’s not how it was when we joined up. Look at the likes of Rainsford, or what Donald’s become. That’s the way the job’s going. We’re being left behind, and this new force has just underlined that.’
Scott shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘So you’re saying we’re at the bitter end, eh, buddy?’
‘I’m saying this isn’t the way I want to spend the rest of my life. Look what it’s done to you: you’ve been shot, battered, seen things nobody should have to. No wonder you want to get pissed all the time.’ Daley stood up and rubbed his forehead with a sigh.
‘You weren’t exactly playing it by the book in there yoursel’, big man. Aye, and no’ wae what’s been going on between you and that wee lassie. What’s got intae you, Jim?’
The explosion Daley had expected to overtake him spluttered and went out like a damp firework. ‘I don’t know, Brian. I just don’t know. We’ve both got problems, me and you. But for now we have to concentrate on finding Alice Taylor. Rainsford won’t do anything for the time being. We can persuade Wiley to do a deal – probably.’ He raised his voice for emphasis. ‘Stephen Taylor has made the rendezvous and picked up a note from the kidnapper.’
‘Good stuff, what did it say?’
‘That’s just it, only he knows. He burned it in the middle of the street before anyone else could get a look at it. He said it was part of the instructions – they’d even provided a lighter. The Edinburgh boys smell a rat.’
‘They do? Wae their powers o’ deduction it’s more likely to be the drains.’
Daley kicked at his desk in frustration. ‘Listen, I need to go for a walk to clear my head. I’ll be back in half an hour or so. I want you to get a meeting together – we need to see where we are. There’s some progress on the vessel that this Abdic character arrived into Kinloch on, and some more details about his accomplice. I want you to chase up the MOD. I sent in an official request for information, but they’ve conveniently forgotten to reply.’
‘No bother, Jim. Though you know as well as I do, if those bastards don’t want tae tell you something, they’ll stick tae it. And about this Dragon guy and his mate, I’ve got tae say, I don’t like the sound o’ either o’ them. Fuck me, professional assassins – we’ve had enough bother wae the unprofessional ones. There’s posters o’ them been handed oot round Kintyre, but that’s a long shot.’
‘Clutching at straws, Brian. Who knows, hopefully that’ll turn up something,’ said Daley, picking up his jacket. ‘Get the team together for midday, I won’t be long. And please, try to stay sober and out of trouble.’
‘Aye, I will. An’ you try tae keep your hands off the hired help on your way oot.’
Daley hesitated before opening the door. ‘Only you, Brian. Only you could get away with that.’
Elise Fordham had made up her mind. She had always made a concerted effort to stay as far away from professional controversy as she could, and trouble like this could extinguish even the brightest political flame.
Why had they been so stupid? She blamed Cudihey; he was an experienced civil servant who should have known better. Kirsteen Lang was bright and ambitious, but too grasping for her own good, determined to get to the top by any means.
Fordham took the small key from her purse and opened the little drawer in her desk. She took the phone from its hiding place then locked the office door, flipping over the no-entry sign. Closed. Meeting in progress. She smiled at the thought; the phrase had become a euphemism for sexual indiscretion within the parliament. ‘I think they’ve had a meeting in progress’ would be a charge levelled at MSPs suspected of becoming a little too close than their job descriptions required. Her smile faded when she realised that what she was about to do could be more damaging than a thousand affairs – to her, and even to her country.
Her thumb hovered above the phone’s keypad; she wiped a bead of perspiration from her forehead. She pressed down, calling the only number on the contact list.
‘We need to meet,’ she said. ‘Today, if possible.’
A few minutes later, in an office a few corridors away, these same words echoed in Gary Wilson’s earpiece. He was pleased his instructions had been obeyed successfully; Elise Fordham’s secret phone had been cloned. He sat back in his chair. Soon all of the pretence would be at an end.
Daley took a calming breath of the warm sea air as he walked along Kinloch’s esplanade. The loch shimmered under the blue sky that had been a permanent fixture over the last few days. Locals and tourists sat on the green that bordered the seafront, eating an early lunch, sunbathing, reading papers or with their heads buried in phones or tablets. A group of boys were playing football, using their shirts as goalposts. Daley stood for a few moments and watched them. It took him back to his own boyhood, playing football in the park on a hot summer’s day, the grass sun-bleached, the tar bubbling in the street. He remembered getting his hands covered with the glutinous black sludge and his mother painstakingly removing it with butter, then clipping him round the ear for her trouble.
A toddler in a white T-shirt and blue shorts was ambling across to him on bowed legs, an ice-cream cone clutched in one hand, much of it slathered down his rosy-red face. He smi
led up at the detective, who bent down, leaning on one knee.
‘Hello,’ he said with a smile. ‘Where’s your mummy?’ For a second, the expression on the little face changed to one of concern, but the child’s grin soon returned as he heard his mother rushing towards him, fussing around the little boy and hoisting him into her arms.
‘Noo, Kieran, how many times have I telt you no’ tae be speaking tae the polis,’ she said, with a wink at Daley. ‘If you’re like your faither, you’ll see plenty o’ them soon enough.’ She raised her eyes to the heavens, then spirited the toddler back across the green to where her friend was sitting on a towel, licking an ice-lolly.
Daley crossed the green and climbed over the low wall onto the road beyond. Through the trees on the other side was a path, an old railway cutting, now used as a shortcut from the town’s seafront to one of the schemes on its periphery. Eventually, this would take him on the road back to the police office.
As he followed the path, the sound of the townsfolk enjoying the sun faded, and he strolled on, the scent of honeysuckle and meadowsweet strong in the air. As he reached about halfway along the path, he was aware of footsteps behind him. Not until he felt a hard object being thrust into his back did he panic.
‘Mr Daley, keep quiet and come with us. We have a gun pointed at your back.’
36
‘DS Scott!’ shouted Rainsford, slamming the door open, his face flushed.
‘If you’re about tae dae your Terminator thing again, fuck off,’ declared Scott. ‘You heard the gaffer: let’s just get ready for this meeting. He’ll be back shortly.’
‘Abdic has been spotted at the pier shop in Firdale. The girl behind the counter just spoke to the cop who handed in the pictures yesterday. He’s in a boat and it’s still moored at the quay there.’ Rainsford’s face was pale and he spoke quickly, plainly nervous at the prospect of facing the notorious killer.
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