by Jay Stringer
Alex turned to glare at Kara.
‘You couldn’t even wait until my corpse was cold?’
‘Well,’ she stuttered a little. Alex was glad to see that there was at least some fear under the calm front. ‘You’re not . . . dead?’
‘That’s a technicality.’ Alex’s voice was wounded and desperate, even to his own ears. ‘You didn’t know that.’
‘My leg,’ Milo wailed, out of sight down below the other side of the bed.
That reminds me, Alex thought.
He ran around the bed and lifted the club high, holding it halfway down the shaft to get the weight right. He swung for another shot. This one made a solid impact on Milo’s shoulder, and the noise the little prick made was most pleasant.
He lifted the club again, but Kara climbed across the bed and made a grab for it. ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Wait.’
‘I’ve been waiting,’ Alex shouted. Spit flecked his words. ‘Waiting to surprise you.’
‘I’m surprised,’ Kara said, with the hint of a smile.
‘I think I need an ambulance,’ Milo said. His voice was as thin as his frame.
‘Honey.’ Kara moved closer to Alex. She started rubbing his legs, running her hands up his belly and chest. ‘Baby. I thought you were dead. I thought, I don’t know what I thought. I just needed—’
‘999,’ Milo said. ‘Please.’
‘I mean.’ Kara was massaging Alex’s shoulders now. ‘What happened?’
‘I had a plan.’ Alex could feel himself growing hard and soft in all the right places as she pressed into his body and kneaded his muscles. ‘You and me, we’re supposed to go away.’
‘But why, baby?’ Alex was surprised how well she was taking his resurrection. She’d skipped right past his whole not being dead thing, and moved on to the details of his plan. ‘Why do all this?’
‘I’m really hurt,’ Milo said. ‘Anyone?’
‘Not in front of this shit,’ Alex said. ‘I’ll tell you the details later.’
He was too busy trying to decide what they should actually do with Milo. He could blow the whole thing. The stupid kid knew Alex wasn’t dead, and he wouldn’t be in a mood amenable to staying silent.
Fergus. He’d call in Fergus. Offer him more money to deal with Milo. One last job before Alex and Kara could fly off into the sunset. And yeah, okay, so she was cheating on him a bit. But she’d thought he was dead. He couldn’t really—
Kara grabbed the club before Alex could tighten his grip again, and she thrust it forward, driving the handle into Alex’s abdomen. He hit the wall and slid down a little, his knees buckling as he fought for air.
Kara swung the club in the air above her head, and hit Alex hard to the temple. His world flashed white and yellow, and he fell onto his side.
‘I can’t be done for killing you,’ he heard Kara say, from far away. ‘If you’re already dead.’
SIXTY-TWO
FERGUS
11:00
The first name on the list is ‘Nazi Steve’.
There’s an address but no surname. Great. I hope he’s not a real Nazi. The house is on Brisbane Lane. I’m not familiar with the area, but I can guess where it is. There was a brand new housing estate built to accommodate the athletes for the Commonwealth Games. After the show was all finished, the place was turned into a mix of social and private housing, and the streets were all named after cities that had hosted the Games previously.
I pull up at the end of Brisbane Lane, but it’s paved – there’s nowhere to park. I leave my car on Sunnybank Street, which I remember from the old days, before they demolished a whole community.
I walk along the path. All of the houses here look the same. Reddish brown bricks and black wooden cladding. Not bad. I could see myself living somewhere like this. I ring the buzzer at the right house, and hear a woman shouting on the other side. A few seconds later I’m greeted by a stressed-out looking bird with fizzy red hair and a fresh stain on her T-shirt. I can hear kids running around and screaming behind her.
She looks both happy to have adult contact and annoyed that I’ve intruded.
‘Aye?’ she says, no messing about.
‘I’m looking for Na-uh-Steve.’
‘Oh, you an’ aw?’ She looks me up and down. ‘You’re no’ polis. Money, is it?’ It’s a pointless question, because she doesn’t give me time to answer. ‘Well, he hasnae got any, but yer welcome to try an’ find him.’
‘He’s not here?’
‘No shit, Sherlock. No. I papped him oot.’
‘Do you know where he’ll be?’
‘Prably with Cal or Baz.’
She shuts the door in my face.
Right-o.
Well, I know Nazi Steve isn’t with Cal. He might be at Cal’s place, but that’s not on the list. The next name is Baz Monroe. He lives to the south, across the river in Cessnock. I’m more familiar with that address. It’s on Govan Road, near The Cess Pit, a pub I’ve been in a few times.
I ring the buzzer to the tenement’s main door, and it buzzes open without Baz using the intercom to see who I am. Great. This guy doesn’t seem to give a shit about security. Makes it all the easier for me.
I climb the stone steps to the top floor. A fat guy is waiting for me. He’s got black hair in an afro, and hairy legs stick out beneath cargo shorts. He looks like a hobbit. Smells like one, too, with the skunk coming off him.
‘Aw shite,’ he says. ‘Thought you was my dealer, man.’
I’ve been trying to think how best to handle this on the drive over. I’ve decided to go with being up front.
I pull out my gun. I don’t aim it at him, I just want him to see it. To know it’s a possibility. But I can feel my hand shake. I rest the gun against the side of my leg to mask the movement.
What, I can’t even threaten to kill someone now?
‘Joe sent me,’ I say.
He doesn’t look me in the eyes. He’s too busy staring at the gun. Shite, this is easy. Maybe I can be a private detective for my new job.
I wave the gun toward him, and he steps back into the flat. I follow. The smell of weed is even stronger in the hallway, and there’s a cloud hanging at head-height. I can feel it getting to me a little. Easing the tension that’s been building in my gut. I almost smile.
Almost.
‘You Baz?’
He nods. ‘Uh, yeah.’
‘Is Nazi Steve with you?’
He waves his hand toward a door to the right. I nod for him to go on through it, and we walk into the living room. Futons are arranged in a loose semi-circle around a huge TV. Ashtrays are scattered around the floor, though people’s aim seems to be off.
A skinny guy lazes on the futon nearest to me. He has black hair and a thick Che Guevara beard. Baz nudges his foot, and he looks up at me through sleepy eyelids.
‘Nazi Steve?’ I say.
He nods.
I wave the gun so he can see it. ‘Joe sent me.’
‘Oh right?’ he says. ‘Cool.’
‘Not cool, you fucking idiot,’ Baz says. ‘He’s got a gun.’
Nazi Steve looks again at the object in my hand. I can see the effort it takes him to focus. ‘Aw shite, I thought that was, ’hingmy, a lighter.’
They’re scared to see me, and dropping Joe’s name clearly has an effect. One thing they’re not, though, is surprised.
They’ve been expecting a visitor.
SIXTY-THREE
SAM
11:55
I called Hanya next, and cut straight to the chase. ‘How would you like to see Paula Lafferty’s flat?’
Hanya met me twenty minutes later outside Paula’s address. It was a tenement building on Bunesan Street, a few miles south across the river, backing onto the motorway. Hanya parked one street over. I needed to change my clothes, and we couldn’t be seen doing that right out front of the place we wanted to visit. I chained my bike to a lamppost next to Hanya’s car, then climbed into the backseat. She kept a spare suit
in the boot, in case her clothes got dirty on the job. It was better than the creased clothes I had in my bag. Hanya stood and watched for passers-by while I got changed.
It wasn’t a perfect fit, but it would do for now.
Round on Bunesan Street, the buzzer had the surnames of everyone in the building; all eight apartments had a listing. None of them mentioned either Lucas or Lafferty. The number we’d been given for Paula was 0/1 on the ground floor. The name on the card read Monroe.
I shrugged and pressed the button. When a small electric voice spoke, Hanya took the lead. ‘Police, ma’am. We’re here about Paula.’
There was a muted buzz and the lock clicked open on the entrance. We stepped into the hall and knocked on the entrance to flat 0/1. A chain rattled on the other side, and an elderly woman opened the door. Her hair was black gone to grey, and she stood with a stoop in her shoulders, hunched forward.
‘Hi there, Ms Monroe?’ Hanya produced her ID. ‘I’m DI Hanya Perera. This is my colleague Sam Ireland.’ She left a pause. Time for Ms Monroe to assume I was a cop, too. ‘May we come in for a minute?’
The old lady stepped back to open the door. ‘Please, call me Sarah, officer. I’ll put the kettle on.’
She walked away from us down a short and narrow hallway and turned left through a door. We followed her into a large kitchen. The floor was covered in red tiles; half of them were cracked and in need of replacing. The fitted cupboards looked like they’d been put up in the seventies, but gleamed damp. The smell of disinfectant hung in the air.
‘Ignore the smell,’ Sarah said. ‘I was just cleaning. Tea or coffee?’
‘I’m good, thanks,’ I said.
Hanya gave me a look that said, Take the drink, and asked for a black coffee.
‘Actually, I’ll take a glass of water,’ I said. ‘If it’s no trouble.’
Hanya gave me another look. I’d gone from refusing Sarah’s hospitality to choosing something that wasn’t on the menu. Sarah picked a glass off the draining board next to the sink and poured me a drink from the tap. I took it with a nod. Hanya’s coffee was going to take longer, as Sarah filled the kettle and switched it on.
Win for me.
‘How can I help, officers?’ Sarah said, busying herself by wiping down the counter with a damp towel.
The surface was already shining wet with the same disinfectant as the rest of the kitchen. I wondered if she would spend her whole day doing this, over and over. The hallway had been spotless.
‘We’d just like to ask a few questions about Paula. She lives here with you?’
‘Oh aye. Rents a room. It’s been so quiet since my Charlie died, you know, I like to have another voice in the place.’
‘Charlie your husband?’ I asked.
The look she gave me said I should leave the questions to Hanya. ‘Och no, he was my dug. When your dug passes away, first thing everyone asks is, when are you getting another one? Like they’re just things on one of they, whatya call them, factory belts?’
‘Conveyor belt.’ Hanya nodded along. ‘Sure. They’re family.’
‘Too right,’ Sarah said. ‘I couldn’t replace my Charlie, so I got a human in instead.’ Her eyes twinkled as she smiled, showing she was in on the joke of it all. ‘Paula’s a nice lass. Friend o’ my grandson. She’s not in any trouble, is she? Not seen her for a couple days.’
‘Does that happen often?’ Hanya avoided answering Sarah’s question like a boss.
‘Young lassies. Like yourselves, I bet you know how it is. Off chasing the men, going to the dancing. Sometimes we’re like ships in the night, me and Paula. Other times I don’t see her for a week. I know she comes in, because she cooks and cleans up.’ She dropped her voice, conspiratorial. ‘I always have to clean again after she’s finished – she never gets it all out.’
‘Could we take a quick look?’ Hanya said.
Sarah paused. She was thinking it over. Should she ask for any paperwork? Was Paula in trouble? Was it okay to let strangers into Paula’s room?
I decided to go onto the front foot, ease her decision. ‘It’s nothing serious. She’s made a few bad friends, and we’re trying to help her out, make the problem go away before she gets hurt.’
Sarah sucked on her lips then nodded. ‘On you go.’
Bingo.
SIXTY-FOUR
FERGUS
11:42
I should go easy on these guys. Getting information out of a couple of stoners isn’t going to be simple. I’ll just guide them along.
‘I think you know why I’m here,’ I say. Giving it a try.
‘Well, if Joe sent you, it’s gonnae be about the Babycham, aye?’ Nazi Steve says.
The what?
I don’t say that. I just nod. Wait them out. The more they assume I already know, the more I’ll be able to get them to tell me.
‘It’s about that ’hing he wanted recorded, innit?’ Baz says. He turns to Nazi Steve. ‘Remember how he got us going to the Barras to buy him a new tape recorder, replace that one you broke.’
‘Oh, I broke it, did I?’ Nazi Steve sits up, showing emotion for the first time. ‘Cal puts it through the dishwasher, but I’m the one who broke it?’
‘Well, he only put it in to get rid of all the shit left over from those old batteries, the wans you’d left in there too lang.’
Nazi Steve looks at me smiling. He shakes his head like, You believe this?
‘Okay, guys,’ I say. ‘Sounds to me like it was Cal who broke it. So why did he need a new one, what was he recording?’
‘Okay, well, see—’ Baz pauses, looks at me with some serious side-eye. Maybe he’s wondering why I’m asking this. Don’t I already know? But he’s high, so he presses on with the talking. ‘So Paula had started hanging out with us, aye? Fucking hot, that lass. I think she wanted me.’
‘Nah,’ Nazi Steve says. ‘She wanted me.’
‘Thing is, Cal wanted her, so I couldn’t make a move—’
‘Fuck oaff, man.’ Nazi Steve slapped his groin. ‘It was me she wanted, I telt ye. But I’m a married man. Well, mostly.’
‘So she’d hang out here, and we’d all get stoned. Then one day she goes on a weird trip, starts telling this story, says she’s an undercover cop, but her mission was abandoned and nobody seems to remember she’s here.’
‘Just sounded like the story to ET to me,’ Nazi Steve laughs.
‘Aye,’ Baz continues. ‘But Cal believed it, didn’t he? So he keeps asking questions, and she keeps spinning this story. Like, she says that the polis in Glesga are corrupt as fuck, and they’re helping to control the drugs an’ that. But that’s fucking bullshit, by the way, because the cops did all that big reorganisation, didn’t they? Changed every’hin’.’
‘And I didn’t leave the batteries in the fucking tape player, did I?’ Nazi Steve turns on Baz. ‘The thing was working fine first time around. It was when the batteries were running oot and Cal says he can get more juice out of ’em by sticking it in the microwave for a few minutes, that’s when it got messy.’
‘Oh aye, aye,’ Baz says. ‘Right an’ all. It was all Cal.’
Nazi Steve throws his hands out to me to say, Finally. He settles back into his seat.
‘So this story she’s telling?’ I prompt them to get back on track.
‘Aye, well. That’s it, mostly. She says the cops used to be one of the biggest gangs in Glasgow, but now there’s this new lot, some rich banker wankers.’ He sniggered at his own rhyme. ‘And that they’re aw trying to work out a new deal. It’s aw baws, you ask me. Think we’d live here our whole lives and not hear any of this, till some lassie fae Belfast starts talking?’
‘So what did Cal do?’ I ask.
‘Well, he thinks this is good information, like. He thinks he can blackmail Paula, because she’s been working in the drugs and all that carry on, so if she was an undercover cop, all them gangs would want to kill her.’
‘And what’s he blackmailing her for?’
> ‘To try and get his hole, probably, what else? He’d been crackin’ onto her for ages.’
‘And how does the tape fit into all of this?’
‘Aye, well. We recorded what she was sayin’, didn’t we? Stevie here likes to record people when they’re high, because it’s pissin’ funny to listen back to it all after.’
‘It’s great.’ Nazi Steve nods. ‘People come out with some daft shite.’
‘So,’ Baz keeps going. ‘Cal has all o’ this on tape. But then he gets the idea of getting more. He wants Paula to record a conversation with those guys.’
‘What guys?’
Nazi Steve slaps Baz. ‘You’ve missed the best bit.’ He turns to me. ‘She says that some of the cops are working with two guys, Joe and, whassissname, the commie wan.’
‘Martin Mitchell?’
‘Aye. That fuck. So, Paula says she’s heard rumours that Joe and Martin are going to try and fuck everyone over, and work with some of the cops to take control of every’hin’ theyselves.’
My gut tightens. They might think this is all bullshit, but I saw that bedroom. This is all making too much sense. Joe and Martin working together. Joe decides Martin is drawing too much attention, and orders me to take him out. And he wanted the body to be found to send a message to everyone else, Don’t fuck this up, or else . . .
‘So Cal says he can set up a meeting,’ Baz continues. ‘She can pretend to be a hooker or something, and he can be her pimp, and then blackmail her into getting them to talk about it on tape.’
‘That’s horrible,’ I say. ‘For her.’
‘Oh, aye, I suppose.’
I’m buying this. All of it.
So that puts Paula in the room with Dominic Porter and Martin Mitchell. It doesn’t explain who Dominic was trying to call when I killed him, but that’s the least important detail in all of this.
‘Do you know where Paula lives?’ I ask.
‘Sure. With my nana,’ Baz says.
He reels off the address with no thought to the fact he might be landing his grandmother in trouble. Skunk and a gun will do powerful things to a person’s conscience.