DEAD MONEY

by TERESA HUNTER

  By 4am, the local radio news were on to the story.They had little to go on and were mainly lifting reports from our latest web bulletin. Through it all, there was no news of Tom Kelly or Roxy.

  At 6am, Pitcher walked into the office. He looked grim.

  “I think we’ve found your girl.” By his tone, it was not good news. “McSherry’s singing like a canary. He’s determined not to take the rap for everything.”

  “Tom Kelly?”

  “Disappeared.”

  “The girl?”

  “McSherry says Kelly ran children out of houses in the Black Top housing scheme.”

  “Near the Stella Maris?”

  He nodded.

  “The properties were empty when we got there. Looks like they’d cleared the girls out.”

  “Jack Kelly?”

  “We’ve picked him up, but he’s saying nothing.”

  “So we’re no closer then. How do you know there were children there?”

  “They left their things behind, clothes, shoes...” his throat caught. “Tiny...even a few toys.”

  “And now?”

  “Go back to the hotel and get some sleep. There’ll be more work to be done later.”

  “The press conference....” Brown had already told me there was a press conference planned for 9.30am.

  “They’ll be told nothing you don’t already know.”

  I got up, picked up my coat and headed for the door. I was so tired, I couldn’t see straight.

  “You need to rest too,” I said, as I brushed past him.

  “Don’t you worry about me, he said, “I’ll be fine.”

  Chapter 52

  Noon Friday, November 30,

  Glasgow

  I slept fitfully, troubled by dreams of Mary Kelly, Margaret Strachan and their ancient feuds, feeding through to the next generation of Ken and Jack. I awoke to the sound of my phone ringing. It was Sandy. I saw I had several missed calls.

  “I’ve been trying to get you, what the hell’s been going on?”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m still in Tarbert, where are you?”

  “I’m in Glasgow.”

  “I guessed from your stories.”

  “Sandy, they’ve got dozens in custody. McSherry among them. Pitcher says he’s singing like a canary.”

  “The Kellys?”

  “Tom’s disappeared.”

  “No, he hasn’t, he was here. I saw him this morning, on his boat.”

  “Jesus. I must tell Pitcher.”

  “I already have.”

  “Where is he now? Kelly?”

  “No idea. The boat’s gone.”

  “What did Pitcher say?”

  “He said he hoped he wouldn’t do something stupid.”

  “I’d better go,” I said, dialling the inspector’s mobile the second I hung up.

  He was already one step ahead of me.

  “I’m heading to Tarbert. D’you want to come?”

  “It’s a three or four hour drive.”.

  “Be downstairs in ten minutes,” he replied. The line went dead.

  I switched on Sky News as I dragged on some jeans and a sweater and splashed water over my face. Fighting had broken out on the Lebanon border with Israel, and there were food riots in Zimbabwe. This was followed by a four minute package about a co-ordinated series of raids on clubs and brothels in Glasgow.

  Pitcher was waiting outside the Buchanan

  “Get in,” he pointed, to the back seat of the BMW. His driver nodded a silent hello and we sped away.

  Pitcher turned back to me. “Apparently, the fastest way to get there is up the Clyde. I’ve been told we can do it in an hour- and- a -half.”

  The car weaved its way towards Glasgow’s modern quay, where derelict wharves stood side by side with modern hotels, offices and conference halls.

  As we neared the quayside, I could see a boat waiting, with half-a-dozen officers in life jackets waiting to embark. My phone rang. It was Sandy again.

  “Are you with the Chief Inspector?” he guessed right. “Let me speak to him.”

  I handed the phone over, and watched the gulls diving for fish, hundreds of them cawing noisily. Pitcher listened poker faced.

  “I see,” he said. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

  He handed my mobile back.

  “Bad news?”

  “The boat’s gone. It’s been seen on Islay. Ross thinks we could catch up with him off one of the islands.”

  He threw me waterproofs and a life jacket, which hit me hard in the face. “Here, get into these. And get a move on.”

  It was a struggle getting into the gear with trembling figures. I wasn’t sure whether it was the ice wind, or nerves, which turned my fingers into bendy straws, that could move, but not in the direction you wanted. As I wrestled, I remembered Sandy’s words the first time I met him. “The Kellys have property all over the islands.”

  At least the weather looked promising, if chilly.

  “What kind of boat is this?” I asked the pilot, as he helped me aboard.

  “They’re called ribs… rigid inflatables. Very fast.”

  Sure enough, the boat took off with a kick like a stallion. I was unprepared for the speed with which she tore across the waves.

  “How fast?” I asked Pitcher, who sat beside me. He shouted the question to the pilot.

  “We’re aiming for 42 to 43 knots,” came the reply.

  “Fast,” Pitcher said, handing me a set of goggles. I didn’t have to wait long, before we hit a shower and I needed them. The rain slashed against my face, as the boat crashed over the waves. Raindrops, innocent enough on land, sliced like splinters of glass into the skin at this speed.

  Fortunately, it didn’t last. The sun came out again, visibility improved, and the goggles came off. We passed old abandoned dockyards, others still working, and sped through Holy Loch, where the US naval fleet used to dock.

  “It’s huge, isn’t it? The Clyde.”

  “Vast,” Pitcher replied.

  “Bigger than the Thames?”

  “No way,” he grinned, but I wasn’t so sure.

  The shower resumed, and we journeyed on in silence. But it brightened up again as we neared the highlands. By the time we reached the Isle of Bute, it was brilliant sunshine. The water glistened below green mountains. The pilot pulled into a narrow water inlet between Bute and a neighbouring island, to give us a break. He turned off the engines, handed us each a tot of whisky, and let the boat gently drift.

  Pitcher stood up to speak to the pilot.

  “How much longer?” he said.

  “Less than an hour, hopefully....unless the weather turns.”

  “This weather is good?” Pitcher sounded surprised.

  “Remarkable, very unseasonal, never known it so mild.”

  “I wouldn’t call it mild,” I whispered to the inspector, as he sat down.

  The scenery became more dramatic as we flew across the waves past Arran and Mull of Kintyre, racing towards who knew what. And yet I felt strangely happy. I was intoxicated with the sunshine and beauty unravelling before me.

  And soon I would see Sandy.

  Chapter 53

  4pm Friday, November 30,

  Tarbert

  As we neared our destination, the sky fused into a melange of yellows, oranges, reds and ochres, bewitching, like a glorious dawn; but strangely out of place so close to dusk. Clouds distorted, constantly, changing shape and colour.

  “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” I said.

  Pitcher wrinkled his brow as he stared, puzzled, at the horizon. He looked worried.

  “Weird,” he said, “the birds have gone.”

  He was right. The gulls, whose cawing had accompanied us up the Clyde, had disappeared. I thought of Strachan’s funeral and the flocks heading inland to escape a storm.

  I forgot the sky, when I saw Sandy standing on the quay waiting for us. He wore a powder blue jumper, the colour of
his eyes. My heart soared. He waved, as the boat pulled up at the harbour wall. He reached to help me ashore, and held me in his arms for a few minutes, while Pitcher took a call from one of his officers.

  “They’ve been trying to get us, no reception til now,” he said, coming ashore. Sandy released me from his arms.

  “McSherry’s spilling more. Reckons Kelly’s panicked and is fleeing abroad with the girls,” Pitcher added.

  “So, we’re too late?” I asked.

  “Not necessarily,” he shook his head.

  “He could still be somewhere in the islands,” Sandy said.

  “Exactly,” Pitcher agreed. “First sight and we’ll get him.”

  A rumble of thunder echoed in the distance. Sandy looked at the sky, and bit his lip.

  “I don’t like the look of this weather,” he muttered. “There’s a wind getting up.”

  The warmth from a fire burning in the grate hit me as I entered the cottage.

  “That’s wonderful I said,” collapsing on the settee, and closing my eyes. Sleep overwhelmed me, and I drifted straight off.

  “And more wonderful still,” I added, when Sandy woke me, handing me a steaming mug of coffee and a plate of sandwiches.

  “How long have I been out?” I asked, yawning

  “Couple of hours, you must’ve been up half the night.”

  “I was,” I grimaced. “But I slept a bit this morning. My body clock’s out of synch.”

  Sandy laughed

  “D’you think Tom Kelly will get away, make it out of the country?” I asked, sipping my coffee.

  “Not in this weather, he’d be crazy to try,” he shook his head.

  “Why take the girls with him? Why not just run?”

  “Tom’s an adventurer. He doesn’t stop to think.”

  “Why risk the girls?” I asked again.

  “Family honour.”

  “Honour? The Kellys?”

  “You don’t understand Julia. In this part of the world, even now, the Kelly name means something. Sure, it operates in a different world to the one we’re used to. Legitimate business, shored up, when times are tough, by dubious activities. Folk round here can accept that. Drugs, booze, what’s the difference? Illegal sweat shops? Well, the immigrants wanted to come. Prostitution? Willing adults, whose business is it?”

  “The girls are children.”

  “Exactly. The Kellys could never survive an association with child abuse. The West of Scotland is deeply religious. Children are sacrosanct.”

  “That doesn’t explain...”

  “He’ll have panicked. He’ll have been terrified of the reaction of his father and grandmother.”

  “Jack wouldn’t have known?”

  “The clubs, the drugs, the prostitution? Probably. But the children...” he shook his head.

  There was a knock at the door. Sandy got up to open it. A gust of wind momentarily iced the room. It was Joe.

  “The Sea Witch has been spotted off Jura. Pitcher’s going out and asking for volunteers.”

  “What about the rescue services?” Sandy asked.

  “They’re already out,” Joe said. “Ship’s goin’ down out West, Russian, heading for Belfast.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “Not too bad right now, but gale eight winds forecast.”

  “What about the other rescue boats?”

  “Fishing fleet’s not docked, they can’t be spared.”

  “Not on a bunch of trafficked kids...” Sandy muttered under his breath, adding “Sure, sure, give me a minute.”

  He closed the door and came over to the settee. He sat beside me for a moment, gently stroking my hair.

  “I have to go, they’re only children...”

  “I’m coming too.”

  “Julia, you’re no sailor.”

  “I’m coming and you won’t stop me.” To his credit he didn’t try.

  He locked the cottage door. Great gusts of wind battered us as we made our way to the quayside. A deep scarlet washed the sky. Sandy banged on a door as we passed the row of cottages, where Joe lived.

  Along the harbour, groups of women huddled together gazing out to sea, hoping for some news of the fishing fleet. A few muttered prayers, like spells; old sailors, shook their heads, as they looked from sky to sea.

  The True Love was moored close to the rib. Pitcher looked relieved to see us.

  “We’ve got her,” he shouted through the wind. “She’s heading back to Jura, looks like he lost his nerve.”

  “If Kelly’s in trouble, it must be bad out there.” Sandy looked grim.

  “Bad, it’d be mad to take a boat out given the forecast,” the pilot of the rib chipped in.

  “For Christ’s sake,” strain etched Pitcher’s face. “We’ll be signing those girls’ death certificates, if we don’t.”

  Sandy nodded in agreement.

  “Are we ready then?” Joe jumped aboard the True Love.

  “OK, we go,” the pilot agreed, as if against his better judgment. There were no other volunteers. The Rib and the True Love would be going alone.

  Thunder cracked over head, like a hammer splintering the skull of the world. Sweeping gusts of rain pounded the waterfront. We leapt back as a twenty foot wave crashed onto the quay. Small boats, anchored in the harbour, lurched like crazy drunks. One smashed on the sea wall.

  “Come on, we’d better get moving.” Sandy said, jumping aboard to join Joe, turning to help me climb into the boat. We motored out of the harbour together, but the True Love couldn’t match the rib for speed. It soon left us behind.

  Once out at sea, the wind eased slightly, allowing Joe and Sandy to raise the sails. We gained speed, rapidly, but so did the storm. I heard a screeching sound, like an animal in pain. It was the wind straining the mainsail.

  “Here, clip your safety harness on,” Sandy said. “It’s going to get rough out here.”

  The three of us huddled together in the cockpit, as gigantic waves rose around us.

  “This has to be heading for a force eight.” Joe said to Sandy. “It’s changing so fast. Do you think it will blow itself out?”

  “I’ve never seen wind build this quickly,” Sandy replied across the gusts. They exchanged a glance, which I only partly understood.

  We held our course as the boat battered and reeled. They were fighting to control it. The sea moved into the driving seat. I prayed that Sandy and Joe’s knowledge of these waters would keep us safe.

  There was no sign of the rib anywhere, but it could outrun the True Love by miles. Nor did we see even a shadow of the Sea Witch.

  Next came the big shock. The boat began to vibrate as waves roared under us, throwing us high out of the water. Straps on my harness winded me, as I was hurled through the air. I heard a thunderous bellowing at my side, as my crew mates, like me, landed with a crash on the deck, just as, thank God, the True Love righted herself.

  Back in the cockpit, Sandy wrapped me in his arms and kissed my face, while Joe struggled with the steering.

  “Are you OK?” he spoke, gently into my ear.

  “We have to go back,” I pulled away from him. “This is madness. We’ll all be killed.”

  “Soon,” he said, releasing me and turning to scan the waters for signs of life.

  I moved towards Joe.

  “Joe, tell me the truth. How bad is this?”

  “Very bad, in a boat like this.”

  The arm, which had hit the deck, the same one injured that night in the brewery, started to throb in agony. I wondered if I had broken it. The boat reeled. I felt panic rising, when Sandy pointed excitedly into the darkness.

  “They’re there, I can see them.”

  “Where? Sandy, where?” I shouted, with renewed energy above the clamour of the wind.

  “There, look, there…a lifeboat. You can see tiny lights, on their life jackets. They must have bailed out.”

  Joe wrestled with the boat, swinging it across in the direction Sandy was pointing. I co
uldn’t see anything. I looked and looked but I couldn’t see it.

  “Sure you can see it?”

  “Yes, it’s there.” He handed me the telescope, and pointed into the darkness. At last I saw them, but as quickly as they surged into view, their lights disappeared again.

  “Jesus Christ, they’ll never survive this,” I said, as I lost them again.

  “It’s OK,” Sandy said. “Be patient. They swing in and out of view as they ride the waves. Don’t worry, we’ll get to them.”

  “Get some rope and life jackets,” he yelled at Joe, through the storm. The gale screeched. Our boat was hurled up aloft on the next surge, throwing the three of us again from the deck. I howled, as I landed on the same aching arm, again.

  Sandy, looked drained, but he helped me to my feet. Pain must have been etched on my face, because he held me tight and said, “Hold on. We’re so close. We can’t leave them now.”

  He turned back to Joe, and I heard him say something about a knockdown. I didn’t know what it meant, but I knew it was serious.

  “Look, Julia, look,” Sandy pointed to the lights twinkling on the small boat, which had reappeared. We edged closer, Joe trying to pull up beside it, but the waves kept pushing us apart. Sandy handed me a megaphone.

  “Shout,” he ordered.

  I couldn’t imagine how they would hear me over the stormy winds and lashing rain.

  “Shout,” he commanded, and I could see in his eyes that his patience was running thin, with the wind, with the sea and with me.

  “Can you hear me,” I yelled, but even I could barely hear my own voice.

  “Louder,” Sandy insisted.

  “Can you hear me?” I screamed.

  Only the screeching of the demented squall, replied.

  I mustered every ounce of energy and screamed again, “Can you hear me?”

  A flare went up from the life boat, lighting up four young girls, drenched like sewer rats, waving desperately. The sea rose up, and the little boat reeled. I thought we had lost them, when the sea threw them out again on to the top of a wave, where they spun full circle.