Dark Suits and Sad Songs

by Denzil Meyrick

  Scott sat back in his chair and looked at Daley. ‘We’re no’ goin’ tae get a whole lot oot o’ this fella, Jim.’

  ‘Interview terminated at 16:50 hours,’ said Daley. They watched as Abdic was taken to a cell in handcuffs by three uniformed constables.

  ‘He’s the strangest cwient I’ve ever had,’ said the lawyer, packing away his documents into a battered briefcase. ‘I hope your colleagues up the woad have more success with him.’ He nodded goodbye and left the room.

  ‘We’re no further forward finding Alice,’ said Daley. ‘You can bet this Dragon has her. I hope this exchange works out in Edinburgh later.’

  ‘We’ll find oot soon. It’s the six o’clock train intae Haymarket, isn’t it?’

  ‘Supposedly. Apparently that was the only instruction left for Stephen Taylor in the note he burned. Though Edinburgh CID suspect that there was more to it than that. They have cops all along the route of the train, but observing only. Who knows what the bastard will do with the poor girl, but at least we have some kind of leverage now.’ Daley looked at the chair on which Abdic had been sitting.

  ‘I’ll hang aboot and see what happens. I’ll need tae be off by seven though, I’ve got a date.’

  ‘With who?’

  ‘Wae Annie. Well, it’s no’ a date as such, just a trip tae the Chinese. She says it’ll gie me something else tae dae.’

  ‘Apart from boozing, you mean?’ said Daley, wishing he hadn’t almost before the words had left his mouth. He was preoccupied by the thought that the arrest of Abdic, welcome as it was, would do nothing to advance the Alice’s release.

  ‘Listen, big man, I’m doing my best. Fuck me, I’ve only been back for five minutes, an’ already the Michelin Man there’s tried tae kill me. Gie me a break, Jim!’

  ‘Sorry, Brian. You did well today. Your usual reckless self, but a good job, nonetheless.’

  ‘Aye, just you pile on the praise, big fella. Wae adulation like that, my heid’ll be the size o’ a pin in no time. Aye, an’ come tae that, where were you? You’ve been right mysterious aboot it.’

  ‘Never mind that, Brian. You don’t want to know, trust me. I’ll tell you when I can.’ He paused. ‘We shouldn’t lose sight of this morning’s antics, either. We’ve got Wiley in on possession, but you know as well as me, with only your word against his, we can’t pin anything on him. And you can imagine the stink he’ll make when he’s released.’

  ‘We’ll just get oor friendly solicitor there tae represent him. That’ll do the trick. He’ll likely go doon for at least a hundred years.’

  Elise Fordham’s ears were still ringing with the admonishment she’d received from the First Minister. That Scotland’s pioneering wind and wave renewables company had mysteriously pulled out of any contracts in their own country was a political setback, but it was nothing she hadn’t expected. In fact, in some ways, now that it was done, it was a relief. She was still holding on by her fingertips, and she knew it. But she had what she wanted; she just had to get through the last tricky operation and it was done, her mission complete.

  She took a small mirror from her bag and attended to her make-up, then pressed a button on the large phone in front of her.

  ‘Erin, tell security I won’t be needing them tonight. Affairs of the heart, if you know what I mean,’ she added, with faux levity. The girl on the other end laughed knowingly and went about her business.

  Fordham picked up the mirror and stared at herself again. The small wrinkles around her eyes, the lines across her forehead, deep-set when she frowned; were they the only price she would pay for betraying her country?

  At exactly six p.m., the train from Glasgow arrived at Waverley Station. As commuters and tourists jostled to get on and off the train, Stephen Taylor stood on the platform, looking up and down the length of it, while in his heart he said a silent prayer.

  The crowds cleared and nothing happened. Just as the doors closed and the whistle blew, a phalanx of policemen stepped out of their hiding places and descended on the carriages, much to the annoyance of those onboard.

  ‘Every carriage, right now!’ shouted McClusky.

  Taylor sank to his knees and sobbed. He’d tried everything to save her, had probably lost the company he was in charge of. They had told him that if MBT pulled out of all Scottish wave power operations, Alice would be released, but he knew in his heart his lovely daughter was gone.

  A fat woman in a stripy apron with a hot-dog logo emblazoned across it strode forward and shouted, ‘Is any o’ yous called McClusky?’

  ‘I’m McClusky, what do you want?’

  ‘There’s nae need for the attitude,’ the woman replied. ‘There’s a call for you in ma kiosk.’

  McClusky followed her down the platform and into a stall which reeked of fried onions and sausages, overlaid by the aroma of bad coffee. A dirty white phone lay off the hook beside the till.

  ‘Superintendent McClusky, who’s there?’

  There was silence for a moment, then a heavily accented voice spoke slowly. ‘The situation has changed. Release Abdic and the girl will go free. You have forty-eight hours to do this, already her time runs out. You will hear more.’ The phone went dead.

  40

  The Dragon looked out from the wheelhouse of the fishing boat. He had just spoken to the man who paid him and he was not happy. He had been ordered to release the girl, but what about Abdic? Their paths had crossed by chance; would anyone have cared apart from him?

  The girl was locked in a cabin below. She had sobbed and pleaded with him, but any remorse, any finer feelings that might once have lurked in his breast, had long disappeared. In a life filled with death and destruction, there was only one constant: Abdic.

  He saw again the battered figure, barely alive, trussed and bleeding on the Chechen street. He’d cut those bonds, tried to revive the man who had once saved his life. He saw the marks left by cigarettes, the burns left by electrodes taped to his genitals, the dry blood slathered down his left ear where his head had been forced against a loudspeaker and the volume turned to maximum. He pictured Abdic’s tormentors laughing as the man struggled with the unbearable pain as the music burst his eardrum and penetrated his skull.

  He could not abandon him now.

  He had told the girl she would soon be free, only to dash those hopes when Abdic had been stupid enough to get caught. She was his only real leverage, the one chance he had of saving his friend’s life.

  He lifted the glass to his mouth and examined its contents, clear like water. In the morning he would have a sore head, a cloying fear in the pit of his stomach, but with alcohol, the pain lessened for a while, allowing him to breathe. Is this what their lives had become? Death and vodka.

  At first, the faces of those he had stared at through the sights of his weapon haunted his dreams. Soon, though, as Abdic had said they would, he ceased to think of them at all.

  He remembered Visonovich’s words: ‘Killing is no more important than taking a shit.’

  But he had just spoken to this man again, and it seemed that some lives did matter to him. Some lives were so important that they must be taken. He must roar again.

  The Dragon looked at an image on the screen of his smartphone. He remembered the big policeman who had stood on the beach in Kinloch such a short time ago, sniffing the air, sensing his presence.

  He had to complete this final task, then he would save his friend, no matter what anyone wanted, said, or ordered.

  He stared at the silver case. He was the taker of lives, he was the bringer of death, he was the Dragon.

  Scott was used to taking his wife out for a meal occasionally, but usually that entailed sitting in a dining room filled with strangers, each table interested only in their own company. Young couples would whisper to each other conspiratorially, while their older counterparts seemed less likely to enter into conversation, often staring around the room as though anxious to get the ritual of dining out of the way and return to less inclusive pu
rsuits such as watching TV or having a pint in the pub – well, in his experience anyway.

  In Kinloch, however, things were different. In this Chinese restaurant, it was as though all present in the establishment were dining together. Nods, winks and ribald comments had been exchanged as they walked in and were seated. Once the novelty of that had passed, he sat and listened to conversations between tables when Annie left to ‘powder her nose’.

  ‘An’ I jeest looked at him, Jessie, an’ jeest says, no. It’s no’ going tae happen, no’ until you dae something aboot that snoring,’ remarked a large lady to her friend across the room. She spoke as though they were alone, not speaking over the heads of other diners, including Scott himself, whose table lay directly between theirs.

  ‘An’ whoot did he think o’ that?’ Scott turned his head as Jessie replied. ‘From whoot you telt me aboot his habits, he widna like that one wee bit.’

  ‘Aye, you’re right. Sometimes I jeest wonder if I would be better on my ain. The weans are a’ away an’ me and him jeest sit aboot. If we speak mair than four sentences tae each other in a night, we’re doing well.’

  ‘Och, at the end o’ the day, Senga, they’re a’ the same. Mine’s mair interested in the new seat for his bike than taking a ride on the auld banger that shares the hoose wae him.’

  Scott felt like a spectator at a tennis match as, despite himself, he turned his head back and forth in time with this very public conversation.

  Then a head poked forward from beside Senga, and a man with an ample double chin spoke. ‘Ur yous forgetting that me and Donald are here?’

  Scott was relieved when Annie rounded the corner and smiled at him, a bottle of wine and two glasses in her hands.

  Jessie and Senga, eyebrows raised, exchanged knowing looks.

  ‘I’ve got a wee surprise for you when we get back tae the hotel, Brian,’ she said in a stage whisper.

  ‘Oh, eh, have you noo,’ said Scott, beginning to wish he was enjoying a quiet pint in the bar at the County.

  ‘Aye, I dae. And see you, Senga, you can stick that smile o’ yours where your mother never kissed you. Noo, whoot will we order, Brian?’

  ‘I know, Liz, of course I want that,’ said Daley wearily into the screen of his computer. Liz liked to Skype, so now he had to like it, too. ‘It’s just there’s so much going on at the moment. Couldn’t you wait until it was all over?’

  ‘No, darling, it has to be this way. Can’t you see? The longer we leave things the way they are, the more chance there is that we’ll never do this at all. I’m coming down at the weekend. You, me and James are going to be a family, a proper family.’ She moved nearer to the screen, her face almost filling it. ‘I love you, Jim Daley. Now get some sleep, you look knackered,’ she said, dismissing him in the way he had become accustomed to over the years.

  He hesitated. ‘I love you, too.’

  She blew him a kiss and ended the call.

  He looked around his dining room. It was almost ten o’clock, but he hadn’t yet bothered to turn on any of the lights. The shadows cast by the setting sun complemented the dark recesses of his mind.

  Alice Taylor was clever, full of promise and hope for the future, but she was in the hands of a man who cared nothing of life and death. Was she even still alive? Daley’s heart was gripped by a cold hand, a familiar feeling that was tightening its grip as the years went by.

  Another young woman’s features filled his mind, her pale blue eyes filled with sadness and hurt. He felt his heart lurch at the thought of Mary Dunn.

  He heard a buzz coming from the pocket of his jacket. He reached behind and pulled the smartphone from the inside pocket.

  It was John Donald. Daley wavered, then answered the call. ‘Good evening, sir. I’m not sure that you and I should be having any kind of conversation, given the way things are.’

  ‘Listen, Jim, forget that shit,’ said Donald, his voice thick on the other end of the phone; he had obviously been drinking, and the hard edge of Springburn was back in his accent. ‘I need to meet you. I have information about the Taylor girl.’

  ‘If you have information you can give me it now. This isn’t a game, John. Regardless of what you’ve done, surely you have the decency to save that girl’s life?’

  ‘I can’t tell you now. You have no idea the kind of scrutiny I’m under,’ said Donald, sounding desperate. ‘I only have a short time. I’ll send you a text of the location – don’t worry, it’ll be near Kinloch. You won’t recognise the number, but if you truly value Alice Taylor’s life, you’ll be there. This goes no further than you and I; any deviation and the girl will die, trust me.’

  ‘Trust you! You fucking–’ Daley didn’t get to finish the sentence before Donald hung up. He flung the phone on the table in front of him, and looked out across the loch and the darkening sky.

  41

  The restaurant was in a fashionable part of Edinburgh; tucked up a cobbled lane, quiet and discreet. She had been going there for a number of years, and knew the owner well; in return for having a member of the government dining regularly in his establishment, he always made sure she had a table away from prying eyes, and that the rest of his customers on the night were not members of the fourth estate.

  Her dining companion walked into the room a minute before he was due, and she was glad she had arrived early. He smiled at her; he was tall, dark-haired, clean shaven and wearing a grey suit, casual, but well cut. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against her cheek.

  ‘Elise, you look ravishing as always.’ His Home Counties was accent clipped and authoritative.

  ‘Thank you, Jonathan. I do my best to look good for our little dates.’

  ‘I do love my trips up north, you know, especially now you’ve managed to sort the food out. One can dine as well in Edinburgh as in just about any other European capital, these days.’

  ‘We’ll turn you into a flag-waving Scotsman yet,’ she said, grinning.

  ‘Let’s not go too far, Elise. Lovely to get a break from the Big Smoke, but live here? Bugger off!’

  ‘I had hoped that with me helping you, you would consider it polite to be nice about my home.’

  ‘Your home – yes,’ said Jonathan. ‘Not fucking mine.’

  Elise was amused by the way he even swore in an upperclass accent. ‘Let’s order, shall we?’ she said, straightening her back and looking down at the menu.

  Brian Scott had never been so happy to leave a restaurant in his life. Throughout their meal he and Annie had been watched by everyone. Annie had remained calm and cheerful, and, apart from a few brief words with Senga and Jessie, had remained pleasant company. Scott had the distinct impression that she was more than happy to be seen with him, and relished the fact that their Chinese meal would be the hot topic amongst Kinloch’s battalion of gossips.

  ‘Well, did you enjoy yoursel’, Brian?’ asked Annie, linking her arm through his as they walked towards Main Street.

  ‘Aye, though I must admit I felt a wee bit awkward. You know, as though every eye was on us?’

  ‘Och, jeest you keep your hand on your ha’penny. This is Kinloch, it’s a wee bit like being famous. You can be sure that by the time we get back, they’ll have me an’ you re-enacting the scene wae the butter – you know, fae that film wae Marlon Brando.’

  ‘Butter?’ asked Scott, confused. ‘I liked him in The Godfather an’ Apocalypse Now, but I cannae say I ever had him doon as the culinary kinda fella.’

  ‘No,’ said Annie. ‘You cannae have seen the film I’m on aboot.’ She smiled and tugged his arm. ‘Come on, me and you’ll get back tae the hotel, an’ I can gie you that surprise I was tellin’ you about.’

  ‘Oh . . . Aye, right,’ said Scott, as they turned the corner onto Main Street and headed up the hill towards the County Hotel.

  They were just about to order when Jonathan changed his mind, picking up the menu she had left on top of his in the middle of the table.

  He was good, she thought. She h
adn’t noticed him remove the small flash drive she’d tucked into the menu; in fact, for a moment, she worried that he’d missed it altogether. Then he smiled at her, and held his hand up to summon a waiter.

  ‘Sorry, I thought I’d missed something, Elise. I’ve got it now.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ she said.

  They had a good meal, both starting with a delicious salmon terrine, followed by rack of lamb with crushed potatoes for her, and the venison served with a dark chocolate sauce for him. After lingering over the excellent Rioja, they had a glass of port each, coffee and shortbread.

  Throughout the meal they had spoken about every subject bar politics. As he drained the last drops of coffee from his cup he yawned and looked at his watch.

  ‘You’ll forgive me if I retire. Off back to London early tomorrow.’

  He asked for the bill and paid in cash. They exchanged a few pleasantries, then he stood, kissed her on the cheek, and left, shooting his cuffs as he did so and not turning back to wave.

  As she sipped the last of her port, Elise Fordham let out a long sigh.

  Her cab arrived quickly, taking her along quiet suburban streets to her Georgian villa on the outskirts of Morningside. As the cab pulled up, she was surprised to see a familiar car parked outside her front gate. She paid the taxi driver then walked over and leaned into the open window.

  ‘Gary, what the fuck are you doing here?’ she asked, concerned that this master of spin looked pale and worried.

  ‘Jump in, Elise, something big’s going down. I had to come and get you myself. This is too sensitive even for the mobile phones.’

  ‘Fuck!’ She rushed around the front of the car and jumped into the passenger seat. ‘Right, give it to me as we go. I take it we’re heading into the office?’

  Wilson turned towards her. ‘No CCTV in this neck of the woods, eh, Elise?’

  ‘No, Gary, and even if there was, I doubt they’d be able to lip read what we’re saying. Now, get on with it, what’s going on?’

  Without warning, Wilson pulled back his arm, and before she could take in what was happening, hit her square on the side of the head.