by Helen Fields
Christian showered, dried his hair, got dressed. They were the everyday movements of an ordinary man, and yet he felt so much more than ordinary. He wondered if he was a monster, decided he was overthinking it, not that it didn’t matter, but simply that he didn’t really care. Labels were for supermarket shelves. He wanted to turn the radio on but knew it would distract him. Earlier, in the news segment, they had said his name. His real name. Another label, one he hadn’t used for many years. So they were closing in. It wouldn’t ruin his night though. He could run, get enough of a head-start to board a ferry and begin again elsewhere, but then all of his hard work befriending Sean and Brad would have been for nothing. He couldn’t bear the thought. One night was all he needed. Tomorrow he’d pack his things and go. Let Scotland cool off in his absence. Maybe in a year, maybe in a few, he could crawl back unnoticed. If the police had known where he lived, they’d have stormed the place by now. There was a sketch of him, too. With the morbid curiosity of a child who stamps on a spider then bends down to poke it, he had gone from radio to internet, seeing himself through the eyes of his pursuers.
It hadn’t been flattering. There was a vacant stare to his eyes. His blonde hair had looked wild and unkempt, rather than California beach-dweller, which was how a hairdresser had once described it. Not much chance of him seeing California in the flesh now. Of course, there never really was, he grinned. Not on cash in hand and minimum wage jobs, and not with the start he’d had in life. The only person he’d ever loved had been stolen from him. Sent from children’s home to temporary carer, to children’s unit and back again, he’d been strapped into a rollercoaster that never stopped. Christian recalled the words a room-mate had imparted at one children’s unit, shortly before stabbing a guard and being moved somewhere even less appealing.
‘There are three things you need to know in here,’ he’d said. ‘The first is that to everyone else, you’re just a problem. The second is that they always think you should be more grateful than you are. Finally, you’ll never get any quiet.’ Christian remembered his room-mate looking up, one finger crossing his lips as they listened to the sounds that defined institutions. Crying, shouting, disciplining, other people’s music, other people’s pain, the clanging of pots and pans in the kitchens, girls arguing over the bathroom, boys ranting, unable to find an antidote for the testosterone that made them growl and thrash. Never. Any. Peace.
That was why he’d learned to find his own quiet place. First in his imagination, then in small ways, with small people. His first attempt had been in a foster home. A remote place at the edge of a loch he could no longer name. He’d presented the family’s seven-year-old daughter with her dead guinea pig. He’d found it like that in the cage, he’d told her, stroking its silky back, watching her eyes fill with tears. It had flopped in his hands as he’d held it, the break in its spine rendering it useless, but she hadn’t noticed. The girl had sobbed on his shoulder, muttering the dead creature’s name over and over, filling Christian with her grief and loss, until he’d felt something close to alive. Not all the way there, but better, half-fulfilled. Her parents had arrived to take the animal from him, peeling the girl from his embrace, exchanging suspicious glances, studiously not saying aloud what they were communicating to one another. A day later he’d been moved on again. He was never directly accused of any wrongdoing, but then as the stakes had got higher, he’d been cleverer about it.
There had been others before Lily, but hers was the first life he’d taken whose passing had caused such deep-rooted, heart-wrenching grief. That was what nourished him. He craved it as a man adrift at sea craved fresh water. The problem was that no amount of it quenched his thirst. He could kill a whole village and revel in the mourning the massacre evoked, and still the next day he would be left wanting again.
He felt a twinge of guilt at ditching Mina so abruptly, but she’d had nothing left to offer him once her initial horrific loss had been accepted. He required raw, immediate grief. Like tonight. Sean and Bradley. One little death. It wasn’t so much to ask.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
In Brian Perry’s lounge, Callanach was beginning to strategise. They had a limited window in which to make use of CI Dimitri’s presence. Lively brought Perry back into the room to assist.
‘Whose weapon was used to kill Jones?’ Callanach asked.
‘The gun belonged to Knuckles,’ Perry said. ‘I didn’t even know he had it on him, and I never touched it, not once. I had no idea the plan was to kill Louis. I just get taken along to make up the numbers. Bit of muscle, that’s all.’
Lively lowered the gun from where he’d pushed it into Perry’s kneecap. ‘Where’s the gun that was used on Louis Jones now?’ he asked.
‘It’s in the safe at The Maz. Knuckles won’t keep it at home in case his kids get hold of it,’ Perry muttered.
‘What about the nail gun?’ Callanach asked. ‘Is that at The Maz, too?’
Perry was silent, but his eyes did the talking for him. He glanced nervously towards a cupboard then back at Dimitri’s gun. ‘Not sure,’ he said.
‘Bollocks are you not sure, son,’ Lively said, walking to the cupboard and pulling it open. It was completely full. A variety of tools, overalls, wires and old electrical parts tumbled to the floor. ‘I can and will pull out every single item, but it’ll save time if you’ll tell me where it is. Also, you’ll still be able to walk tomorrow.’
‘Fuck, all right, don’t hurt me any more. It’s wrapped in a rag, top shelf on the left,’ Perry whined. ‘I didn’t use it though. They told me to take something to scare him. They wanted to know where the money was. It was Knuckles who did it.’
Lively took the nail gun out of the wrapping, photographing it then putting it into an evidence bag and labelling it.
‘So now you’re following procedure?’ Dimitri asked. ‘How are you going to explain what led you to Perry in the first place?’
‘Because he’s about to phone the police station and ask to speak to me. When I’m not there, he’s going to leave his name and phone number so I can call him back,’ Callanach said.
‘You’re frigging crazy, pal. Do you have any idea what’ll happen to me if I do that?’ Perry laughed.
Lively sighed and pointed the gun back at his knee. ‘Pick up the phone,’ he said.
‘You’ve got to be shitting me. This goes on the record and I’m a dead man,’ Perry said.
‘In that case you seem to be stuck between a rock and a hard place, because we’re not feeling all that charitable either,’ Lively said. ‘Now pick up the phone.’
Perry did.
Callanach took the unlit Gauloises cigarette from his mouth and crushed it beneath his boot. His phone had started buzzing when they’d arrived outside The Maz. He answered it as Lively got Perry out of the car and handcuffed him again, buttoning his jacket over the top to keep the cuffs hidden.
He listened to Ava’s message, then Lance’s voice came on the line as Callanach realised he hadn’t finished listening to his voicemail the previous day.
‘… leaving, a man walked past and handed me a flyer for The Maz. I didn’t recognise him but I was concerned that he might have noticed me there. Just thought you should know.’
Callanach sighed as he switched his phone off. He’d established a clean connection from Perry to the nail gun. The last thing he needed was complications with Lance.
‘Let’s get on with it,’ Callanach said. ‘You’re sure Trescoe isn’t here?’
‘I was told they were all out,’ Dimitri said. ‘They don’t usually appear in the club until later in the evening. No reason they should be here now. Off we go.’ He pulled out his gun and kept it pointed at Perry’s back, as Lively rang the bell next to the club’s main door. ‘Not a word, now. Just act normal. Remember what we agreed, Perry.’
‘Aye, like witness fucking protection is going to help me where these boys are involved,’ Perry said. ‘You might just as well shoot me right now.’
‘Ki
lljoy,’ Lively muttered.
The eyepiece in the door shifted. ‘Just me,’ Perry said. The door opened.
So far so good, Callanach thought. Perry was behaving himself, not that he had much choice standing, as he was, at the business end of a gun. Dimitri’s attitude had shifted substantially since Callanach had brought up Begbie’s name. Perhaps it was a sudden rush of conscience, though more likely Dimitri realised that the only way he could remain a free man was if he helped get Trescoe arrested. It wasn’t the best laid of plans, but it was all they had. Getting the gun out of Trescoe’s safe would provide a solid link to Jones’ death, and with that and Perry’s testimony they could build a case. They needed Dimitri, a fact which stuck in Callanach’s throat, but as long as the Chief Inspector believed the charade about the footage being uploaded and accessible at the police station, he would have to play along.
Dimitri stepped forward, gun in the side of Perry’s neck as they hustled inside the club. Callanach followed with his taser on display and Lively brought up the rear, locking the door behind him.
The man who had opened it stepped back with his hands in the air. ‘Chief Inspector Dimitri, we don’t see you here often. And with your friends this time,’ he said. Callanach recognised him as the club manager who’d taken such a keen interest in Ava. He fought the urge to punch him immediately.
‘Straight through to the safe, Domo,’ Dimitri said. ‘Don’t shout out. If we feel threatened, that’ll be enough for us to use reasonable force and today that includes bullets.’
‘I’m not stopping you. Go ahead. You know where it is,’ Domo said.
‘I think we’ll follow you, if you don’t mind. Who else is in?’ Dimitri asked.
‘Knuckles is in the cellar dealing with the barrels. A couple of the girls are in the changing rooms getting ready for opening later,’ Domo said.
‘Five minutes, in and out,’ Dimitri said. ‘That’s all you’ve got. I’ll wait here in case Knuckles comes up. Leave Domo with me.’
Lively and Callanach went with Perry through the VIP area to the rear of the ground floor, and into an office.
‘Open it up,’ Lively told Perry. He reached for the safe and turned the dial left and right a few times. The door didn’t move. ‘Don’t make a mistake, lad,’ Lively told him. ‘Mess me around and we’ll hang you out to dry with both your boss and the law courts. Pick a side, is my advice. Now hurry up.’
‘It’s not working,’ Perry moaned.
‘When did you last open it?’ Callanach asked him.
‘Couple of days ago to stow some cash we’d collected. Mr Trescoe transfers it all to his private safe upstairs at the end of the night.’
Footsteps came from the main area of the club towards the VIP section. Callanach grabbed Perry around the neck and put the taser to his temple.
Dimitri appeared in the doorway first, gun nowhere to be seen, with Domo and Knuckles behind him. They all moved aside to allow another person through. He was slim, with dusky skin and black eyes, and his smile made it clear that he was not the least bit surprised or perturbed to find Callanach and the others invading his space.
‘I should’ve known we couldn’t trust a bent copper,’ Lively said. ‘Was it greed or fear?’
‘Shut up,’ Dimitri responded.
‘Will I hell,’ Lively replied. ‘It’s not like we’re getting out of here any way except wrapped in plastic. I might as well enjoy telling you what I think.’
‘Lively, stop,’ Callanach said, pulling Perry closer to him and looking Ramon Trescoe in the eyes. ‘There’s evidence against your men already, and I include Chief Inspector Dimitri in that. Evidence that implicates you. Even if Lively and I die, that evidence is admissible in court. You can’t win.’
‘I don’t think you want to threaten me, DI Callanach. There are other people you care about involved in this debacle, and you don’t want their blood on your hands,’ Trescoe said.
‘DCI Turner already met your men and came off rather better than them, as I understand it. I don’t think she’d want me to back down because of her,’ Callanach said.
‘Oh, I wasn’t referring to the lovely DCI Turner, although it’s right to say I have her home address, front door in British racing green, isn’t that right?’ Trescoe said. Callanach stayed quiet. ‘Actually, I was referring to your friend who I invited to stay here last night. He was good company for a while, then he found it all a bit overwhelming I’m afraid. Apologies if he’s a bit of a mess. He took some persuading to explain who’d sent him to take photos of my car. We have a concealed CCTV system. Very basic really. Taking a note of his licence plate was embarrassingly simple. Not at all difficult to trace a home address when you have such good friends in the police. Knuckles, bring Lance Proudfoot up from the cellar, please.’
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Sean saw his new friend Jackson from a distance, leaning against the wall of The Lost Boys, running a hand through his hair, completely ignorant of the looks being thrown at him from passersby. He pointed him out to his companions.
‘You’re kidding me! Bradley let you out for the evening with him? He is gorgeous,’ Rex said.
‘Just because you can’t keep it in your pants when there’s a tall blonde nearby, doesn’t mean we all behave the same way,’ Mattie said. ‘Sean and Brad are in love. You should try it.’
‘If being in love means I stop fancying men like that, I’d sooner give it a miss thank you,’ Rex replied.
‘Knock it off you two, he’ll hear. Anyway, he just wants to get to know a few people. I’m trying to be friendly. Play nice.’ They approached Jackson, and Sean made the introductions. ‘Shall we go in then?’ Sean asked.
‘I just need to get to a cashpoint. I wasn’t sure where the nearest one was, so I thought I’d wait here for you first,’ Jackson said.
‘There’s one a couple of corners down,’ Rex said. ‘We can go together. Won’t take long.’
‘Wouldn’t hear of it, it’s freezing. Give me directions. I’ll find it,’ Jackson said.
‘You guys go on in, we’ll meet up with you in a while. I know which cashpoint is closest. It’ll give me a few minutes to tell Jackson who to avoid at the bar, as well,’ Sean said.
‘Stinky Barnaby,’ Mattie and Rex said together.
‘You two are evil,’ Sean replied. ‘Get on inside. We’ll catch you shortly.’
‘This is really kind of you,’ Jackson said as they walked down the hill towards the junction. ‘Sorry to be such a pain.’
‘That’s okay. It’s just around the next corner,’ Sean said. ‘It’s bitter though. That coat can’t be keeping you warm.’
‘I’ve got something better,’ Jackson said, pulling a bottle from his pocket.
‘Oh my word, Flaming Pig Spiced Irish,’ Sean said, whistling as he took it from Jackson. ‘I honestly can’t remember the last time I drank this. I think it might have been at my friend’s feature film debut. He was only on screen for four seconds and he didn’t have any lines, but he was the first one of us with his name scrolling at the end of a movie and heavens, did we party!’ He took the cap off and sniffed. ‘Can you smell those cloves?’ He smiled at Jackson. ‘Do you mind if I take a sip?’
‘Be my guest, take as much as you like, there’s plenty,’ Jackson said, pushing his card into the cashpoint machine.
‘Do you taste the cinnamon in it?’ Sean said. ‘This is great. It’s like every night out I ever had with my mates when we were teenagers. Someone always nabbed a bottle of this from their parents’ cupboard. We were usually smashed by the time we got to the pub. Made it a cheap night out.’ He took another sip and held the bottle out to Jackson.
‘Give me a minute,’ Jackson said, waving the bottle away. ‘There’s a problem with my card. I just need to check my balance. You have it. I’ve already drunk more than I should’ve!’
‘Amen to that. It’s so sweet, I’ve probably consumed my calorie allowance for the week. Warms the cockles, though, right?’ Sean
took another swig. ‘You really can’t beat spiced whisky for warming you up.’ He puffed out hard.
‘You all right?’ Jackson asked.
‘Sure, I’m fine. Probably shouldn’t have mixed it with the red wine I had earlier.’ He leaned against the wall.
‘That’ll just be the cold air getting to your head. I’ve nearly finished here. Have another sip. It’ll get the blood flowing,’ Jackson said.
‘Promise you won’t let me on the dance floor after this,’ Sean laughed. ‘I’ve made an arse of myself enough times already at The Lost Boys.’ He took a final gulp and held the bottle towards Jackson. ‘Take it away from me, you devil.’
Jackson grabbed the bottle as Sean began to slide towards the floor, hitting the wet pavement hard. ‘You really shouldn’t have mixed it with the red wine,’ Jackson said. ‘Come on, let me get you up.’ He put an arm around Sean’s waist and lifted.
‘I’m so sorry, I’ve never got drunk that quickly. I’m not sure what’s happening,’ Sean slurred, opening his eyes wide before the eyelids began to droop again. ‘I need to sit down.’
‘Hold on,’ Jackson said, ‘my car’s right here.’ He held out his keys and clicked the lock.
‘That was lucky,’ Sean muttered. ‘I think that’s good idea. Just a sit for minute.’
‘Come on,’ Jackson said, holding one hand over Sean’s head and lowering him into the front passenger seat. ‘I should get you home.’
‘You parked right next to cashpoint, s’funny. Didn’t see it,’ Sean said. ‘Need to tell my address,’ he murmured as his head fell forward to rest on his chest. Jackson secured the seatbelt for him.
‘Don’t you worry,’ Jackson said softly. ‘I already know where you live.’
Chapter Sixty