Referendum

by Campbell Hart

  “Come in.”

  Opening the door Arbogast saw that Donald was surprised to see them. He was hunched over a management report, scribbling with his pen. He turned the paper face down so that it couldn’t be seen. He held the pen in his hand and clicked away at the cartridge.

  “Well you two are the last pair I expected to see together. Do you have something to tell me; some good news about your rocky relationship?”

  Arbogast watched as his boss smiled, he thought this was going to be fun, but he’d soon see the lie of the land. He wanted to say something but had agreed that Rosalind, as the senior, should take the lead. She knew the script.

  “I’m afraid it’s official business, sir, concerning operational matters.” Ying kept her tone calm and measured. She wanted to time the comments well. They needed to see his reaction, had to be sure they were doing the right thing.

  “Well then, you’d better sit down. Grab a chair.” Finally they were all sat looking across Donald’s desk. The silence spoke volumes.

  “I am really quite busy, so if you’d like to get to the point I’ll help in any way I can.”

  Rosalind felt her throat go dry. She thought she was ready, but the nerves had kicked in. She had never taken a colleague to task like this and Graeme Donald was no ordinary colleague, he was a big deal.

  “I’m afraid it’s a very sensitive matter which concerns you directly,” Donald had started to frown; he couldn’t see where this was going. He glanced at Arbogast who stared back. Why hasn’t he said anything? It’s not like him, he’s usually got an opinion whether he’s asked for one or not, “OK, well then you had better talk me through this.”

  There was a moment’s silence before Rosalind produced the package. She took it from her lap and slid it across the desk, “We have reason to believe that you are working with a man named Niall Murphy. A man you used as muscle in Belfast, a man who has helped you to carry out questionable activities in Belfast and possibly here in Glasgow.”

  Donald’s demeanour changed immediately, “Oh come on, Rosalind, not this again. I went through all this very publicly in Northern Ireland and you may not have seen the headlines but all the allegations were dropped.” He picked up the A4 envelope and felt the contents, “So let me guess what these are. Grainy photographs of an alleged torture with Mr McNally and some amateur dramatics on a CD. Am I right?”

  Rosalind glared at Arbogast, he had been adamant the tapes were new evidence, “That’s right, and to my knowledge these have never been made public.”

  “You’re right and with good reason, they’re fake. Photo-shopped snaps and an unverifiable tape recording – did you ever stop to think why there was no video recording?”

  Arbogast had heard enough, he knew from Rosalind’s look that she was annoyed, “With all due respect, sir, this evidence is genuine. It came directly from—”

  “—from Colm McNally I’d have thought? He tried this before but no-one would listen. This,” He said pointing at the package, “is garbage.” Donald threw the envelope into the waste basket by his desk, “So there had better be more?” Donald sat with his hands clasped on the desk. He looked belligerent, ready for a fight.

  “No, sir, that was all. I’m sorry to have bothered you with the information. I hadn’t appreciated the evidence had been previously dismissed.”

  “I’m afraid sorry isn’t going to cut it. I’m surprised at you, Rosalind. I brought you on board because I thought I saw potential but this confrontation amounts to nothing more than treachery. I’ll be reporting you for gross misconduct, both of you. Arbogast, I know you’ve had it in for me from the start but mark my words your days here are numbered. I will make it my own personal crusade to get you kicked off the force. You’ll find it hard to get a job waiting on tables by the time I’ve finished with you. Now get out, both of you. To say I’m disappointed would be the understatement of the year. Now, GET OUT.”

  In the corridor, Rosalind said nothing, just walked off and left Arbogast to go back to his own office. Arbogast was frantic. Why hadn’t McNally told him that before? Why didn’t I ask? He knew he needed more support and went find Chris Guthrie. It was a gamble, but if it worked it would be worth the risk.

  As soon as Ying and Arbogast left the room Graeme Donald fished the envelope from the bottom of the bin. Murphy had been right; people had been snooping around looking to dig up dirt on him. He still had contacts in Belfast who fed him with information. All at the market rate of course.

  Donald knew about the pictures and the tape because Murphy had told him about them, told him he’d taken them in the first place. They both had evidence on each other and that was what had kept the relationship balanced. With both men having a lot to lose neither had made a move. It had worked so far but now that Ying and Arbogast were involved he had to work fast to make sure he maintained control. Arbogast came as no surprise but he thought Ying would have had more loyalty; he was disappointed in her, although he thought there may still be potential to use her to get out of this mess.

  He looked at his watch. 9:30am. Using his second phone he left a message with Murphy. They’d meet in Dalmarnock in an hour. First, though, I need to speak to Davidson.

  Ian Davidson was outside Murphy’s flat when he took the call. His mask itched and he’d been fighting the urge to tear it off and spend the day free from irritation. To feel the sun on his face would be a real luxury. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he set his recovery back. The doctors said they were hopeful he might look pretty much as he did, although the left hand side of his face would always look slightly dipped, like he’d had a stroke. It was better than the way he looked after the accident; there had been nothing but red flesh. He had been holding the phone in his hand; it had been ringing for a while, how long he couldn’t be sure. Long enough as it turned out, he had a new message. Graeme Donald wanted him to stay on Murphy, it wouldn’t be long before he could stop but today was going to be important. When he saw Murphy leave the flat he switched on the engine and watched while his target threw his jacket in the back of his car. A few seconds later he was back on the road.

  ***

  It was the day of her mother’s funeral and Leona McMahon was dressed in black. It was the second time that summer that she’d said goodbye to a loved one. Her father’s funeral had been paid for by the council. Lorna had refused to ask her sister for help to pay for it so they’d had an economy service with a cheap casket, no flowers and barely anyone there. This time had been different. The celebrity of the case meant that people had clubbed together to help her pay. Her aunt seemed relieved that she didn’t have to fork out for it; she was struggling for money as it was. The funeral director had asked what her mother’s favourite clothes were, what would she want to be buried in. She had no idea, wasn’t sure the dead had a preference. In the end she’d picked out a light blue dress her mum sometimes wore in the summer. It wasn’t particularly pretty but Leona could remember a trip to the seaside two years ago when they’d played on the beach and eaten fish and chips. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but if she could hold onto that thought, perhaps today would be easier. Her mum deserved that little bit of respect, it was something that the world had robbed her of in the last few months.

  The house was silent. There were no well wishers, no family other than the two of them. It didn’t seem real. Leona sat on the edge of her bed looking at the picture she’d been holding for the last three hours. She kept thinking this same thing, ‘why did this have to happen to us, what did we do to deserve it? But she couldn’t find an answer. When the knock at her bedroom door came she jumped, hadn’t been expecting it. She hoped that she would never need to move again. It was her aunt Margaret.

  “Leona, love, it’s time to go.”

  The limousine was parked outside. The grumpy cop, Arbogast, had arranged it for them, said it was a small way of saying sorry. The driver looked at her when he opened the door, he knew the story. Probably thinks he knows something about me t
oo. No doubt he’ll be telling his mates down the pub later that he drove the hookers’ kid to the funeral. But in the end he wasn’t like that at all and she felt bad when he touched her arm.

  “Don’t look at the crowds today, kid. Just keep your thoughts for your mum. This will all be over soon; then it will all start to fade away. You’ll see.”

  She stared at him for a second, he had kind eyes and she was sorry to have misjudged him; she found it difficult to trust anyone these days.

  30 minutes later they were driving through Dennistoun. Leona wanted to have the service in her old home, she would never go back to live there again and it was her way of saying goodbye to her old life. But it was her neighbourhood that surprised her the most. Hundreds of people lined the streets to pay their respects. She hadn’t realised it before but people didn’t like what was happening in their back yard and they wanted to say sorry. Sorry that they couldn’t help, and to say goodbye to Lorna, who they didn’t have the power to protect. As the hearse made the final journey to the Eastern Necropolis, Leona decided that she was going to try and make her parents proud; she wouldn’t give up no matter how hard things got. Leona said her goodbyes and left. I’m done with Glasgow – Niall Murphy can go to hell. The country was about to change, she could feel it. Nothing was going to hold her back from building a better life.

  ***

  By the time the car pulled up beside him Niall Murphy was already angry, “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been waiting for over an hour.”

  Graeme Donald didn’t really care, he liked winding Murphy up and was glad to see he’d hit the mark.

  “Let’s keep it down until we’re inside.”

  Donald took out a large ring of keys from his pocket and picked out a fob which he swiped across the black pad which locked the door. The pips of an alarm sounded which Donald switched off by typing a code into the white control panel. The noise was amplified in the cavernous reception space.

  “You’ve got to be careful with security these days,” Murphy had lit another cigarette, “Would you mind telling me what this is all about?”

  Donald gestured to him to follow, “The lifts aren’t on yet so we’ll need to take the stairs. You like the building though? It’s inspired by the Bauhaus movement. Nice clean lines, steel and glass, sort of a back-to-the-future type thing.”

  “It’s pretty sweet, feels nice and transparent, not sure if that’s your type of thing, though.” They took the steps two at a time until they reached the fourth floor, the climb leaving both of them out of breath.

  “Times change, Niall, you should know that. That’s why we’re here. This is the future for Police Scotland, which is to say it’s my future.”

  “Our future, you mean?” They were on the top floor. Outside, the narrow Clyde snaked past on its way to Glasgow Green.

  “No, I don’t. I think it’s time we dissolved our partnership. You’ve had a good run but I can’t protect you anymore.”

  “You forget, though, Graeme, that I’ve got a lot of information on you, information that would kill your future cold if it got to the right people.”

  “Yeah, but the tapes and the pictures are old news. Someone came to me with copies today. I wonder where they could have come from?”

  “This is bullshit. I know you’ve got my laptop. You’ve had a guy tailing me for weeks. If I were you I’d have picked someone a little less prominent. I mean the guy wears a mask for fucks sake. Have you lost your touch? I’ve got more than that on you and I’ve copies of everything sitting safely with other people – people that will act if anything happens to me.”

  “Is that right?”

  “You can bet your life on it.”

  “Well, the thing is, the hospital room where you killed Wark was bugged. I have the footage.”

  “Big deal, I was wearing a mask.”

  “Not before you went in. You didn’t notice my man in the mask that night, did you?”

  Murphy was suddenly feeling a little out on a limb. He’d noticed the tail a couple of days after the hit but there hadn’t been anyone on him before.

  “I can almost hear the cogs turning, Murphy. You’re trying to remember if you saw someone at the hospital? It’s never much fun when your memory fails you. My man saw you walk in wearing the same clothes that we have on film and I must say you were very careless when you got rid of the balaclava. I would have thought better of you than to dump it in the nearest bin.”

  Murphy’s mind was racing now. Shit, do they have the mask? “I think you’re bluffing.”

  “But he’s not.” Ian Davidson emerged from behind a partition. He’d been at the building for the last hour, arrived just before Murphy. He was handing over a mobile phone. Murphy could see a picture of a balaclava.

  “This could be anyone’s, doesn’t mean it’s mine.”

  “The DNA will be pretty conclusive, you can be sure of that.”

  “What is it you want?”

  “I want you to disappear for good.”

  “There’s no way that’s going to happen. I can’t go back to Belfast now that I’m set up here, this is home, and you’re my meal ticket.” Murphy knew Donald wouldn’t cut him free and let him live, he needed to be convinced the threat to uncover him was true. “I do have files on you that are primed and ready to go.”

  “You mean the files you left with your little tabloid friend?”

  Donald could see the uncertainty rise up in Murphy’s eyes, “Mr Davidson here has already had a word. There’s a nasty backlog of phone hacking cases piling up against your contact, he won’t be sending much of anything to anyone, so remind me again: what is it that you’re trying to threaten me with?”

  But Murphy had backup too. He raised the Glock and aimed at Donald’s head, panning across to Davidson to let them know they were both in his sights, “I’ll kill the pair of you if I have to.”

  “Is that the gun you killed Ian Wark with? I told you to get rid of it.”

  “I don’t think I’m going to listen to you any more, Mister Donald.”

  “Listen Niall—”

  But he was stopped short as the shot rang out and zipped through Donald’s collar bone. The bullet hit the plate glass window behind and cracked the pane from top to bottom. Graeme Donald stood and stared at the red hole in his raincoat. He turned round to look at the window, then across to Davidson who was making a move to help, before Murphy barked at him to stop.

  “Stay where you are, Davidson. I’m giving you a choice. Either you help me get out of here or you’ll be joining him. OK?”

  Davidson said yes, he’d help. Donald cried out that he couldn’t be trusted but after the second and third bullets ripped through his body, his conversation dried up.

  Taking the keys from Donald’s trousers Murphy stuck the point of the gun in the small of Davidson’s back, “Move it, freak. It’s time to go.”

  ***

  The new Police HQ dominated the local skyline; a vibrant new office development which was being hailed as part of the wider Games legacy work. But from where Arbogast was sitting it looked more like a case of smoke and mirrors. The flagship Police Scotland building teetered on the edge of a brutal industrial area which had been home to decaying brick warehouses, travellers’ sites and general neglect for decades. Guthrie parked on French Street.

  Arbogast had expected Donald to make contact with Murphy but he hadn’t figured on it being quite so soon. Chris Guthrie hadn’t asked any questions when his partner asked him to act as a corroborating witness, he just got his jacket and left. They’d followed Donald by car through the city centre, out along Duke Street and down to Dalmarnock.

  “This is the last place I thought he’d go.” Arbogast didn’t understand why he’d choose this building for a meet and greet.

  “Maybe he’s got something planned.” The detectives watched as Donald parked outside the security fence, were surprised to see Murphy there already, clicked on the camera to gather more evidence, and sat bored while t
hey waited. Arbogast just wanted it to be over, he needed to know he hadn’t made a massive mistake. Donald had been arrogant to think they hadn’t checked his back story, he knew that the evidence hadn’t been seen in public before. With any luck he was about to hang himself. The sound of the gunshots roused them from their reverie.

  “Did you hear that?” Guthrie was out of the car and Arbogast wasn’t far behind. The door to the building was locked. They could see inside but couldn’t get in. Then, in the background, they saw a man in a mask.

  “It’s Davidson. What the hell’s he doing here?”

  Arbogast was starting to piece it together, he saw Murphy with a gun pointing into the small of Davidson’s back. Arbogast watched as the Irishman waved them back with the gun for encouragement. He flashed a fob at the door and the two men came out.

  “You two can get in there. No arguments or your pal will be the next to get it.”

  Arbogast and Guthrie shuffled past with their arms raised. The door clicked shut behind them. When they turned round Murphy was gone.

  “We need to follow them. Help me with this, Chris.” Arbogast ran to the far side of the reception area where a pile of scaffolding poles were stacked. Chris immediately understood what he meant and lifting the metal beams the two men rammed the window. The alarm went off immediately and the detectives knew the security firm should respond within five minutes, so they had to act fast. The force of the steel pole repeatedly battering the window at first made it go opaque and then the window crystallised and fell to the floor like a glass waterfall. The two men ran back to the car. Arbogast saw Murphy drive off towards the motorway. He thought they still had time to catch him.

  Arbogast took the wheel. He hadn’t bothered with the belt and the car’s automatic alarm was telling him to ‘please strap in’. The constant ding ding ding was maddening, but safety was the last thing on his mind. Guthrie was terrified. Strapped in, he gripped the side of the passenger seat and braced himself for the pursuit. He thought Arbogast was driving too fast, taking hand brake turns to get round the tight corners of the industrial estate and then out onto the relief road. A car screeched to a halt, missing them by inches, “Slow down, John, you’re going to get us killed.”