In the Cage Where Your Saviours Hide

by Malcolm Mackay

  He turned sharply and looked at her. Now she was smiling. Not a joyous smile but a satisfied one. The smile of someone whose effort had just been well rewarded. He couldn’t keep the fear out of his face. He moved towards her and was now only three steps away. He opened his mouth to talk and coughed in surprise at the thick smoke that ran into the back of his mouth.

  ‘Stop that,’ he tried to shout, but he was coughing and croaking the last word as he felt the soot on his tongue.

  He lunged the last couple of steps to her and reached down to try to grab her wrists. She hadn’t moved since he’d come in and was still sitting in grey with her hands on her lap almost lost in the folds of her long skirt. He grabbed them with no intention. They seemed at once light and impossible to move. They were frail but powerful. She looked at him in silence. There was no need to say anything.

  He started to cough and gasp but the more he did the tighter he grabbed hold of her. If he could stop her the others might have a chance. If he could just hold her in place. He could feel the heat on his hands and could feel the smoke trickling down his throat. He realised as he dropped to his knees that he should have let go. He was still holding her. She watched him drop. She seemed curious but didn’t move. He coughed and gasped but only more smoke found its way in. He collapsed on the floor and let go of her wrists.

  She sat and looked down at him for a full minute and continued to ignore the sounds of shouting from the courtyard. It took no more than a minute for her to grow bored with the sight of his dead body and to forget why he was lying at her feet. She stood and made her way to the side door beside the tool shelves that led further into the building. She wanted to find more people.

  12

  IT WAS THE first test of Maeve Campbell, Darian asking her if she had a key for Moses’ flat. They sat in her living room, and she nodded her head slowly.

  ‘I do. I didn’t tell the police that I did because they had already started to hint I was a suspect by that point. I don’t know, I just thought it would be better if they assumed I didn’t have one.’

  Darian said nothing. She hadn’t understood that Moses had been chased from outside his building, so her having access to the flat would have made her less of a suspect.

  ‘I want to get in and have a look around, see if there’s anything the police might have missed, or that they might have seen but we don’t know about. Have you been in the flat since he was killed?’

  ‘No, God no. I’ll get you the key.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She handed it over to him and said, ‘Can I get this back when you’re finished with it?’

  Darian said, ‘Sure.’

  Sholto picked him up from Glendan Station and asked him about the key.

  ‘She had it, says she hasn’t used it since before he died.’

  ‘Police didn’t take it off her?’

  ‘She didn’t tell them she had it.’

  ‘She didn’t, did she not?’

  ‘She did not.’

  Sholto didn’t say anything else, but they both knew what that meant. She had kept the key because she intended to use it; there was no other good reason. At some point she would have made her way back into the flat. Neither Darian nor Sholto needed to say that it was a poor reflection on her, or that it was also understandable. Maeve would know where the money was buried, and there was no one else to claim whatever cash reserves Moses had hidden away and left behind.

  As they drove towards Moses’ flat Darian said, ‘You’re going the wrong way.’

  ‘We’re not going in the front. People with an unhealthy interest are more likely to be watching the front door because they can sit in the warmth of their car to do it.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘If Corey has a pet watching the office then he might have another from his kennel watching the flats. We’ll go in the back, I know the way. We’ll go through the Lady in Grey flats and out across the garden behind them, in through the back of the flats on Seachran Drive.’

  They parked and Sholto led the way. He knew the area like a man who had arrested a lot of people round there back in the day, and led Darian across the square of grass where a courtyard had once been and into the front of the U-shaped building. It was one of the few that had been set on fire by someone way back in the 1870s, and the suspect had been a woman seen fleeing the scene of a previous fire. It was always factories she’d targeted, and in this case flats owned by a factory owner and occupied by his staff. She’d killed a few people, if it was a she and if it was even a single person because many think it was a sequence of insurance scams during troubled economic times, but was never caught and may have died in the last fire she’d set. In the end she drifted off into legend and became the Lady in Grey, now shorthand for a fire-starter or just a madly dangerous person in these parts. It is rather typical that a woman with a place in our local cultural history is seen as something wicked, a mysterious killer who was presumably driven mad by something the factory owner had done to her. These days most people don’t remember the original story, the factories are long gone and the flats were now just a renovated modern block in an old shell.

  Sholto led him in the front door, along the broad corridor, past the stairs and straight out the back. It was dark and it was raining but neither of them could spot a watcher as they walked across the narrow stretch of grass and in through the unlocked back door of Moses’ former residence. The stairwell was unlit and Sholto banged his elbow on the bannister as they made their way up. He was still inhaling through his teeth and rubbing it when they got to the door. Darian let them in and they started to search, fast.

  Sholto had said, ‘Anything that gives us a lead on who he was working with. Paperwork, receipts, anything. Let’s just try to get a picture of the man.’

  Sholto had told Darian to look at pictures of Moses, as many as he could grab a hold of. It was one of his things, the parcels of wisdom he wanted to pass on to his young apprentice. You see a picture of a person and you can read a lot into it, how they stand, the expression they have, the difference between when they’re posing alone and when there are other people there. Sholto had decided from the few he’d seen that Moses put on a false face when others were there, being cheerful to fit in, and that he was quieter and more relaxed when it was just him and whoever took the photo, presumably Maeve. Darian had decided that Sholto’s theory was charming quackery. To Darian Moses looked like an awkward but likeable fellow, light brown skin and a round face that made him look fat when he wasn’t.

  They were in the bedroom of the flat, and they were two men not bound by the limits of great wisdom. Sholto said, ‘Just think, Maeve Campbell slept in that bed. Probably did a lot more besides.’

  ‘Hard to picture her here.’

  ‘Oh no it’s not, son. You need to get yourself a more potent imagination; it’ll see you through the cold nights of a long Challaid winter.’

  ‘I mean it’s hard to picture them together, acting like a normal couple. Him seven years older than her and he wasn’t much of a looker. Plain and a bit podgy. Even if he was handling a lot of cash, it wasn’t his money. He wasn’t a rich man.’

  ‘Ah, but she might not have known that when it started. Maybe she thought she was climbing into the bed of a millionaire.’

  ‘No, she’s too smart for that; she knew what she was getting into. Girl like her, she would have looked at his life before she leapt into it.’

  ‘Mm. Must have had talents that went beyond his much vaunted honestly, our Moses Guerra.’

  They walked back through to the living room. The place was small but tidy, sterile. It was a boring flat, no flair for living on show. Nothing on the walls, a TV but no consoles, no sign of a tablet, no bookcase. If the flat was a reflection of its occupant then it was another mark against Moses.

  Sholto said, ‘Never trust a man who doesn’t need to buy a bookcase. All this stuff is paid for, didn’t have a penny of debt so life wasn’t a struggle, even if he wasn’t drowning in luxury.
’

  Darian walked into the kitchen and opened a cupboard, looked at a full bottle of whisky and another of Coke. Three glasses stood beside them, and that was all the cupboard held.

  Darian said, ‘He lived here eight years and you couldn’t guess at who he was by looking around. Don’t you think that’s odd?’

  ‘Odd how?’

  ‘Odd, like a man should leave a shadow behind in the place where he spent his life. You couldn’t describe this flat to a stranger, there’s nothing distinguishing here, no sense of who he was.’

  ‘Some people don’t have a shadow to leave. Maybe Moses Guerra had nothing to distinguish him, no interests or personal touches. Some folk only have their shadow for entertainment, and they take it with them when they go, it’s why most people are soon forgotten. Plus, he was a youngish man living on his own, working and living in criminal circles. He had reason to hide the things other people could strip him of.’

  ‘Maybe he was just really boring.’

  ‘Maybe. Is your flat bursting with fun and games?’

  Darian said, ‘You couldn’t fit fun and games into my flat.’

  They spent another five minutes searching for signs of life in the dead man’s flat. No paperwork that told a person what Moses had done for his money, no personal items that hinted at friends or a girlfriend.

  Sholto said, ‘So?’

  ‘So I can’t get a picture of the guy in my head at all.’

  ‘We’ve spent long enough looking for it. Let’s go before some busybody notices the lights on and knocks on the door. Key or not, we shouldn’t be here.’

  Sholto drove them both to Sgàil Drive and Darian ran up to Maeve’s flat to put the key through the letterbox. It was deep into the night, no need to wake her up for the sake of returning the key. He ran back down and got into the car.

  Sholto said, ‘She didn’t get rich in that relationship.’

  Sgàil Drive was not populated by people who had married well. It was the sort of place that someone desperate might reside, and that was Sholto’s double-edged hint.

  13

  THE COLD FINGERS of worry squeezed his heart when he saw the motorcycle parked outside his flat. It was a 1952 Vincent Black Lightning, and it belonged to his older brother Sorley. His one bold extravagance. Darian didn’t mention it to Sholto, let him stop the car and say goodnight as he got out. He watched Sholto drive away and then went into the flat.

  He loved his brother unconditionally, but there was a wall between them. Clear enough that they could see each other through it, but too firm to knock a hole in. Theirs wasn’t a sibling problem akin to The Waiting King and The Gaelic Queen, no violence and hatred, but it was awkward. Darian owed his brother too much, he and his younger sister Catriona both did. Sorley had been seventeen when their father had gone to prison. He had, with minimal help from their aunt Ann-Margaret, raised his curious fourteen-year-old brother and whip-smart twelve-year-old sister. Their aunt was, technically, their legal guardian, but she was a walking screwball comedy and chose not to even live in the same house as them.

  The children’s hearts had been cracked by their mother’s death from cancer three years before, and a hammer was swinging towards them with their father gone, too. Sorley had thrown himself in front of it; let his heart break and prospects crumble to protect his siblings.

  He had been an intelligent boy who excelled at camanachd, loved design and had talked about a career in architecture, but instead he dropped out of school and went to work. Odd that Darian, so inquisitive even then, hadn’t worked out that his brother was living a life of crime to pay for them. On reflection he could see that he hadn’t wanted to know. Sorley brought enough money back to the nice family house in the Cnocaid district to carry on the comfortable life their parents, a teacher and a detective, had given them. Then Darian grew up and moved out when he got a job with Sholto, and Cat went to university. It annoyed Sorley that they both stayed in a city he thought was poison, but he never mentioned it. Instead he sold the family house on Treubh Road and split the money evenly three ways so Cat wouldn’t have to worry about student debts and Darian could buy his new flat. Darian and Cat did both wonder if he really split it evenly, or if he gave them both some of his share.

  Darian went into the building and up the stairs. He smelled the wisps of a San Jose cigarette before he turned the corner up to his floor. Sorely was sitting on the top step, looking bulky and bored, the cigarette dangling loose between his fingers. Sorley was the only one of the kids who got his looks from their father’s side of the family. Where Darian and Cat were both feminine, pretty, Sorley was a solid block with dark hair and eyes, thin lips and a square jaw, a long forehead and nose just slightly too big. He had a moody expression so often it had to be deliberate. He stubbed the cigarette out on the tiled floor beside him when he saw Darian.

  ‘Getting bored waiting for you. I hope your late night was fun.’

  Darian smiled sheepishly and said, ‘I’m on my own, so...’

  He stepped past Sorley, making a note to pick up the crushed cigarette butt when his brother had left so the other residents on his floor wouldn’t complain. He unlocked the door and they went inside, through to the living room. Sorley had never been to the flat before so he took a good look around.

  ‘Good job I wasn’t planning on swinging any cats.’

  Darian got defensive and said, ‘It’s perfect for me. Good location, near the station, view of the loch. And the value’s going up all the time, every place in Bank is.’

  ‘Aye, well, good. Still, about time you got something with an engine in it to get you around instead of using those shitty trains. They’re always late and dirty and miles away from everywhere. Only reason the bloody things don’t get lost is because they can’t. You should get a bike.’

  ‘I’d be pretty easy to spot on some old classic.’

  ‘Aye, well, you can get something a lot more boring than mine that would still let you slice through the traffic.’

  The inevitable silence fell, two young men who should have had plenty to say to each other but couldn’t hold a conversation down and force it to talk. They were brothers, three years apart, and they cared deeply about each other, which was why Sorley was there. It was him who ended the quiet.

  ‘I hear you’re sniffing round after the fragrant Maeve Campbell. That true?’

  ‘Where did you hear that?’

  ‘It true?’

  ‘We have a job on. Her boyfriend was killed and we’re following the money trail, that’s all. What’s it got to do with you?’

  ‘Doesn’t have a damn thing to do with me. I heard about Moses Guerra, and I know Maeve Campbell is worse news than the weather forecast. You should stay away from her, and from any investigation the anti-corruption unit are driving before they run you over with it. You and that fucking amadan Sholto, you’ll get splatted if you’re not careful.’

  ‘We know what we’re doing.’

  ‘No, you don’t. You’re following a good-looking girl and you got this huge sense of justice right in your face so you can’t see much past the end of your nose. She’s using you for something, it’s all she ever does, and the ACU won’t stand for someone like you sticking a finger in their pie. Just leave them all to their bullshit, go back to hassling poor people for rich clients, that’s safe ground.’

  ‘They never found out who killed Guerra, but he deserves the truth being known. Don’t give me that look, everyone deserves that much.’

  ‘If it was the girl then she wouldn’t have hired you, if it was for his work then it was heavier trouble than you can pick up. Either way you’re fucked.’

  Darian said nothing. He spoke so rarely to his brother and here was Sorley bringing grief to his door in the dark of night.

  ‘If you know something about who killed Moses...’

  ‘I don’t. It was probably his work and it was definitely something Corey’s unit has a better chance of uncovering than you and Sholto do. Big-time crimi
nals, that’s who you’re looking for. If you want to see what honour among thieves looks like you can usually find it lying in an alleyway covered in blood. This is out of your league, both of you. I remember Sholto, when he was working with Da; he never had the balls for it then and I don’t think he could grow them this late in life.’

  Darian frowned and Sorley would have realised, a second too late, that he had offended him. Sholto had been good to Darian, giving him a job after their father went away, keeping an eye on the family. He may never have been the world’s most competent detective, but Sholto was a decent man and rarity gave that value. Sorley saw too little of good men in his world to recognise the worth. It went quiet again so the older brother took a different route, aiming for shared interests.

  ‘Did you ever play the game Brothers: A Tale of Two Sons?’

  ‘No. It good?’

  ‘Yeah, it is. It’s about these two young brothers and their mother’s dead and their father’s dying and they have to go find the cure for him. I know you’re making contacts that can help you prove Da is innocent; get him out of The Ganntair. I’m doing the same, just coming from the opposite direction. You the cops and me the criminals.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘The game, Brothers, it doesn’t have a happy ending. All the stuff you’ve been doing, a man like DI Corey can ruin all of that, prevent you from ever getting Da out. Or you could lose more in the journey than you get from the destination. One error of judgement can make it all worthless, that’s the point I’m making.’

  Darian said nothing to that either. He did try to make contacts with all the cops he could, journalists and business people who might help him uncover the evidence he needed to prove their father was no killer, no thief. He had always known Sorley was doing the same thing using very different methods.