Designer Crime

by Allen Whitehead

  Chapter 1 October

  'Well, that's it - the last one finished.'

  Fraser McLeod lifted the large presentation board off the table, propped it against the wall and stepped back to inspect his handiwork. It contained architectural plans, some digitally generated images of a substantial building complex and a panel of explanatory notes.

  'Let's have a look then.' said Joe Sutherland, striding across the office to join his colleague. They were standing in a small basement studio that had been built a few years earlier – a conversion from a disused industrial workshop. It was after nine o'clock in the evening and both men had been working on the four presentation boards since before seven o'clock that morning, with only a half hour break to grab a sandwich, eight hours earlier, and innumerable cups of strong coffee to sustain them.

  Fraser was a Director of the company and also in the room, sitting at a small round meeting table, were two other Directors, Paul and Liz. Earlier, the two had been discussing the firm's accounts but essentially they were passing time, reluctant to go home until they had seen the finished design work.

  All four were Architects, and none had wanted to leave and go home before the presentation was completed. They had been working on the project – an entry in an international competition – for several weeks but, as is inevitably the case, the final drawings only came together at the latest possible time.

  'You know,' Paul said, stroking his chin, 'even though it hurts me to say it, they're not bad, Fraser. I reckon you and Joe have done a bloody fantastic job.'

  'I think so too,' nodded Liz. 'We all knew the concept was a good one. I reckon that the buildings'll create a smashing new public space. There'll be great views through to Holyrood and the Scottish Parliament, and these new rendered drawings of Joe's have made all the difference to how it looks. Now, I think it would be really beautiful – just what Edinburgh needs to fill that gap in the Old Town.'

  Joe smiled modestly. 'Well, let's just hope that the judges agree, eh? It's been a good team effort. Russell said he'll take the prints and get them encapsulated first thing in the morning, then drive along to Rutland Square and deliver them to the RIAS personally – after that we'll just keep our fingers crossed.'

  'Well, everyone, I'm feeling pretty knackered,' Paul said, stretching. 'It's been a long week. I'm going to surprise my Jo – she isn't expecting me home before midnight. She says she knows too well what a perfectionist I am when I get involved in a presentation.'

  'I need to get off too,' Liz said, 'I've got to collect Stevie from my mum's. And we'll be up again at five, and round to the Commonwealth Pool for six.'

  'Aw, come on guys,' groaned Fraser, 'We surely deserve a pint after all that good work. Joe, you can manage one, yeah?'

  'Aye, okay, why not. We've earned it – only a couple, mind, or I'll have to answer to Sam!'

  They all smiled. Joe's partner Samantha was even smaller than Liz – reaching only as high as the breastbone of the tall fair-haired man, but he always referred to her in terms of respect and awe, if not actual fear.

  'Well, I agree with that,' Paul nodded. 'You’ve both earned a pint. Get yourselves off then. I’ll lock up here. You too Liz. I’ll see you all in the morning.'

  Paul walked back through the small studios, checking that all of the computers were switched off. The building had once been a joinery workshop with an adjoining stone built office – part of a run-down mews in Edinburgh’s New Town. The practice had taken out a lease on the dilapidated property on the understanding that all improvements that they made to it would be offset against their rent, and this had proved to be a very valuable arrangement in the early days, when new projects were slow to progress and cash flow had been problematic.

  He locked the front door, and walked across a small landscaped courtyard. Pulling the large wooden gate shut behind him, he locked it and then set off along the cobbled street, to a small car park where they had managed to rent four spaces – another minor triumph in a city where car parking spaces exchanged hands for the price of a small house in other parts of the U.K.

  He climbed into his car – a new Kia Sportage – and drove towards the city centre. It was a mild evening for October, and the streets had exchanged their shoppers and office workers for groups of younger people, still in light summer clothes, heading for pubs, clubs, restaurants and bars, noisy, and bright-eyed – good natured sounds of laughter following in their wake. He smiled to himself, reminiscing how he had behaved at that age, as he turned along London Road, heading east towards Haddington.

  * * *

  Joe and Fraser slowly ambled along George Street, heading for the Black Dog in Rose Street, one of Fraser’s many favourite pubs.

  'Was that right – what Liz said – about being up and round at the Commonwealth Pool before six o'clock?' Joe asked.

  'Oh, aye. He’s a bloody good swimmer is young Steven. He was spotted by a scout at an inter-school’s competition when he was ten. For the past three years they’ve been coaching him at the Commonwealth Pool. They don't think he's quite good enough to get into the squad for the Olympics next year, but you might see him in the one four years after that. Liz thinks the sun shines out of his arse, and she wants to give him every chance, so she drives him to the pool at an ungodly hour nearly every day, and often to competitions at weekends as well!'

  'She must be knackered. Doesn't look it though.'

  'Nah, she’s got bags of energy. Dead sound, Lizzie is – she's one I'd always have on my team.'

  'Yeah, I’ve noticed that. The younger ones always go to her, to ask for her opinion or help if they need it. She’s been with the practice for a while, hasn’t she?'

  'Yeah. She was at Edinburgh Uni when Paul was there. Then, after he’d graduated with part one, he went to Cambridge to do his part two post-graduate course. He still came back up to Scotland to work after that, though. He was working at Bruce, Grant and MacDonald with Neil, when they decided to set up on their own. Liz, who’d only really worked part-time while Steven was small, asked if there was any chance of a job. Her marriage had recently broken up. Now, Paul had run into her a few times over the years, and he still held her in high regard – knew how good she could be – so he and Neil invited her in at the start, on an equal basis too. They just used their surnames – Clayton, Anderson and Taylor, and so that was the start of CAT Architects.'

  'So, when did you join them, then, Fraser?'

  'About a year later, I was also at Bruce, Grant and MacDonald when they left. I met Neil in town one night, and he said that more work was coming in and they were going to have to take on some staff, so I offered my services.'

  They turned along Rose Street, a narrow pedestrianised street, which runs behind and parallel to Princes Street – Edinburgh's internationally renowned main shopping street. It doesn’t have the large chain stores of Princes Street, but instead has boutiques, gift shops and lots of bars and restaurants. Many a University student has taken up the challenge to have a drink in every Rose Street bar, but only a few have succeeded.

  Although the door was fixed wide open, a wall of warmth hit them as they entered the Black Dog. Saturday evening was inevitably the busiest night of the week in the pub, but it was hardly ever quiet, and this was a typical Thursday, packed with office workers, students and tourists – visitors to the city at all times of the year. They managed to force their way to the bar, and Fraser bought them both pints of “real ale”.

  'Cheers, Joe. Here’s to a job well done.'

  'Yeah – and more to come, eh?'

  A couple of high stools at the bar became vacant, so they grabbed them, and sat chatting, leaning on the zinc-topped surface. After a while, in a reflection in the full width mirror behind the bar, Fraser noticed two youn
g women enter from the street. They were both dressed in skin-tight vest tops with plunging necklines and extremely short skirts. They stood by the door for a few minutes, surveying the crowd, before moving towards the bar, veering over towards the two men. One, with spiky blonde hair and knee-high beige suede boots, positioned herself between Joe and Fraser, waiting for one of the bar staff to notice her.

  'Hiya, guys. You'se out on the town then?'

  'Aye, you could say that,' Fraser nodded.

  'Well, this could be your lucky night, then, pet. Buy us a drink and tell us your story. We’re dead brilliant listeners, aren’t we, Cheryl?'

  'Oh, yeah,' chirped her friend, fluttering her false eyelashes. 'We’re totally brilliant at all sorts of stuff.'

  'So what about it, then?' asked the blonde one, leaning against Fraser so that a maximum amount of cleavage was exposed, and she slid her hand down his back.

  'No, thanks, hen. We’re here having a quiet pint – just the two of us.'

  'Och, he’s a miserable bugger, your mate. What about you then sweetheart,' she said, turning to Joe. 'I’ll bet that you could handle a bit of female company, couldn’t you?'

  'He could handle me!' giggled Cheryl, who staggered slightly, and had to steady herself against the bar.

  'Like he told you,' said Joe calmly. 'We’re not interested. We just want a quiet drink.'

  'Yeah,' snapped Fraser, stepping away from her caressing hand. He was feeling irritable after their long day. 'Look, we’ve asked you nicely, and you seem to be a bit deaf, so let me be blunt – bugger off, and leave us alone, right?'

  'Oooh! What’s up with you? Couple of gay boys are you?'

  'Now look here,' said Fraser sharply. 'If we’d wanted to pick up a couple of slags, we’d have gone down Leith – now fuck off and leave us alone!'

  'You cheeky bastard! Who’re you calling slags? Me - I’m not a fucking slag. Come on Cheryl, let’s go and find ourselves a pair of straight guys. Leave these two nancy boys to play with themselves.'

  The two women turned their backs on Joe and Fraser and, with as much dignity as they could muster, stalked to the opposite end of the bar where Cheryl ordered drinks for them both.

  'Bloody hell,' slurred Fraser, who was beginning to feel the combined effect of strong drink and too little food. 'If we’d come in here and started fondling a couple of women, we’d have been nicked for indecent assault by now, wouldn't we?'

  'Right enough. It’s an unfair world, man. One more, then I’m off, okay?'

  They drained their glasses and Joe ordered more drinks. He paid for them, and after the barman had handed him his change, he took a large draught and then slid off the stool, heading to the Gents. As soon as he stepped back into the bar, a thickset man with close-cropped hair confronted him. He was wearing a sleeveless black tee shirt to display a large ornate tattoo on his shoulder, that extended down his arm to his wrist, and he had HIBS tattooed on the knuckles of his right hand.

  'Hey, you! You'se the ones that's been calling Jools and Cheryl whores, right?'

  Joe looked surprised. 'No, wrong. We haven't. They must be mistaken. Perhaps they overheard us talking about someone else. Must have thought that we were talking about them – we weren't.'

  The man frowned and looked puzzled. Before he could say anything else, however, Joe had stepped around him and joined Fraser back at the bar.

  'The two women who tried to pull us earlier - you know? They've been telling some guys that we insulted them – said we called them whores. The neds look like hard cases, so I think it'd be best if we left soon – in case they mean to cause trouble. You go first. Don't look at them. Make as if you're going to the bog, then just slip out of the door instead. I'll be right behind you.'

  Fraser put down his glass and followed Joe's instructions. The pair stepped out into the street, where the night air hit them with a sobering coolness. They began to walk quickly along the paving, heading towards Castle Street, but they had only taken a few steps when a loud voice shouted out from behind them.

  'Hey, you'se! It is you two, we want a word wi'.'

  'Yeah it is, Tam. Them's the ones!' shouted the blonde haired woman, who had followed him out.

  'Come on,' Joe said quickly. 'Best run for it.'

  They turned, reached the junction, sprinted across Castle Street, and then along the continuation of Rose Street.

  A shout went up behind them, ' Aye, right, yer bastards. Wait while we get us fucking hands on yer, - yer fucking pair of wankers!'

  Joe ran easily and smoothly, and at first Fraser managed to keep alongside him, but he was out of condition and several years of heavy smoking had taken a toll on his lungs. His breathing soon began to be laboured.

  'Come on, man. They're still coming after us, but they'll give up soon,' Joe said, smiling.

  Fraser nodded and gritted his teeth as he ran. Suddenly, he saw the entrance to a lane, Rose Street South Lane, and impulsively he turned into it. The lane, however, was a large flat U-shape, with both ends entered from Rose Street. Immediately, he realized that he'd made a mistake. He found himself in the service street for several of the large stores that had their main frontages on Princes Street. He stopped beside a group of large refuse bins, leaning forwards with his hands on his knees. He was breathing hard and his side ached. Then he heard voices behind him and he froze, hoping that his rasping breath wouldn't give him away.

  'Tam, Tam,' panted one of the voices. 'I thought I saw one of 'em run down the back. You'se go up the other end, an' we'll get him.'

  Fraser stepped back against the wall in a shadow and stood motionless, not daring to move, and cursing himself for having chosen the wrong option. A rancid, sickly smell came from the nearest bin and assaulted his nostrils, but he paid it no heed, because he could hear the movements of one of the pursuers, checking doorways and the jumble of bins and empty boxes. All the while, he was steadily working his way towards his hiding place. Eventually Fraser could bear it no longer. He burst out from behind the bins and with renewed energy, borne on fear, raced along the lane away from the man who was searching for him.

  'There he is, Tam. He's coming to your end! Stop the bastard!'

  Fraser turned the corner and saw the tattooed man who had confronted Joe in the Black Dog, standing, legs apart, blocking his way. He hesitated, and then decided to try to run at or past him. As the gap closed, though, Tam brought his hand from behind his back. He was holding an old piece of reinforcement, a rusty steel bar, almost a metre long, and he waved it from side to side, smacking it against his left hand.

  'Come on then, pretty boy. Are you feeling lucky – punk?'

  Fraser quickly reconsidered his options and decided that he might be better off trying to get back past the second pursuer, who might not be carrying a weapon. He spun round and was surprised to find that he was almost on top of him. The man was running at full speed, and Fraser had only a brief moment to brace himself before he crashed into him, feet and fists flailing. He threw up his own fists, to protect himself, but a wild hook caught him on the temple. He staggered sideways, and the man closed in on him lashing out wildly with alternate fists. Another blow caught Fraser below the right eye, cutting his cheekbone, and he fell to one knee. A terrific blow to his ribs drove all the air from his lungs, as Tam joined his friend and hit him from the back with the metal bar. Fraser curled into a tight ball on the greasy damp cobbles, with his hands over his face, but the assault continued. Two kicks hit him, one in the chest, and, luckily, one just grazing his temple. Another whack from the bar smashed into his ribs, causing him to gasp out loud.

  'That’s enough – get away from him!'

  At the sound of the voice, Tam turned to see Joe coming quickly down the lane.

  'Oh, so you'se decided to come back, did ye? Reckon yer made a mistake there, pal.'

  He left Fraser and advanced towards Joe, swinging the bar, but the young man stood his ground. His hands hung loosely by his sides, and he shifted his weight lightly on to
the balls of his feet. Tam swung the bar, a vicious horizontal swipe at Joe’s body, but the tall man rocked back on his right foot so that it missed his chest by a few millimetres. Balancing on his right leg, he flicked back his left, bent at the knee, then lashed it out in a lightning horizontal kick that struck Tam hard in the ribs.

  He grunted as the force drove the air from his lungs and he was knocked sideways. 'You fucking bastard. Who the fuck do you think you are?'

  Tam advanced and slashed back-handed – a murderous blow towards Joe’s face. Again, though, he didn’t retreat, but merely ducked under the flailing weapon, and slid forward in a crouch, his right fist punching explosively forward into Tam’s solar plexus.

  As the punch hit home, Joe exhaled loudly. 'Tsseee ….'

  The stocky man’s breath left his body with a loud gasp and he collapsed to his knees, choking, retching, as he desperately tried to get air into his lungs. A sudden movement to his right caught Joe’s attention and he whirled to find the second man running towards him. A knife glinted dully, reflected under the weak streetlights. The man slashed horizontally across and back, and Joe had to jump backwards to avoid the sharp blade. His assailant was wild-eyed and had a fierce grin on his face.

  'I'll cut yer, yer fucker.'

  He stopped and then lunged forward swinging the knife upwards, aiming for Joe’s belly. This time, though, the young man didn’t move back, but slid forward with his clenched fists crossed above his left knee. He blocked the blow at his attacker’s wrist before it had gathered any momentum, then he twisted his hand pulling the arm out to the side, before delivering a sweeping roundhouse kick. His shin smashed into the man’s belly making him double up with a loud snorting gasp. Joe grabbed him by the ears, jerked his head up, then forward and down, smacking his knee up into his nose. The man’s head jerked back and he dropped in a heap to the ground.

  Joe ran across to Fraser who was painfully trying to push himself to his knees.

  'Are you all right, man?'

  'Bloody hell, Joe,' he said, trying to smile. 'Ritchie said you did karate, but that was amazing. You were like Bruce fucking Lee.'