He dialled Mick McGee on his phone.
‘What’s up, Jack?’
‘The tracker on the Fiesta just died.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t bloody what me. Did you set it right?’
‘Aye, stuck it to the axle. It was firm.’
‘Well, it’s off now. Where are you?’
‘Heading south, ten minutes outside Wick. Just started afternoon shift.’
‘Well get yourself to the inn and see if the car’s still there.’
‘On my way. What are you doing?’
‘I’m standing by at Lybster. I’m not showing out until he’s on the move. No way I can follow without a tracker, not up here. It’s too bloody remote.’
‘Okay, I’m on my way.’
Slattery hung up, nervousness gripping his insides like a vice. Hardie would go mental if he lost him. Slattery took a final drag on the cigarette, sucking the smoke deep into his lungs, before tossing the stub out of the window.
He couldn’t shake the knot of nerves that sat like a lead weight in his gut at the thought of what he was expected to do when the opportunity arose. Mick McGee had sent him a picture of Bruce Ferguson that he had taken at the burial and Slattery had stared hard at the grey hair, tanned face and lean physique. He looked a tough man despite his diminutive stature, and Slattery knew he would have to be quick and ruthless when the time came to pull the trigger. Slattery had never baulked at roughing people up, where necessary, particularly when the odds were heavily stacked in his favour.
His stomach flipped at the prospect, but he was unsure whether it was the physical act of killing or his fear of Hardie that made his hands tremble, as they were now. He’d far rather be a facilitator, who allowed others to do the deed. He wasn’t a particularly good fighter, or any type of a hard case, but he always had a leveller to tip the odds in his favour. The pistol at his waistband was a bigger leveller than he had ever had before, and he was surprised to feel a sense of power and excitement at what lay ahead.
His phone buzzed on the dash. Looking at the dial he saw the number of one of his contacts. A DI at force intelligence who had proved very useful over the years.
‘Yeah,’ Slattery said, bluntly.
‘Jack. That number you gave me to keep an eye on has just gone live. First time since it was switched off yesterday. It just called the top-up service.’
‘What? Where?’ Slattery’s heart leaped at this news. If both Elizabeth Phillips and Ferguson were up here, they may be able to resolve this whole situation in one go.
‘Hitting a cell tower just up the A9 from Latheron in Caithness.’ The voice was low and hushed.
‘Shit, you sure?’
‘Aye, not three minutes ago. Still on the network now, and it’s receiving some voicemails and texts. They must’ve been missed calls whilst switched off.’
‘Okay, cheers, pal. Keep me informed if it goes off or moves.’ The excitement gripped Slattery. So, it looks like she travelled up for the funeral or something. Jesus, this was big.
He quickly composed a text to Davie Hardie.
Leitch’s sister’s phone just gone live at Latheron. She must be going to his place. Instructions?
The reply came back almost immediately. Do it.
He dialled Mick McGee.
‘Where are you?’ he barked, as he jammed the car into gear and moved off, tyres screeching.
‘Ten minutes from Dunbeath.’
‘Scrub that, get to Latheron. Willie Leitch’s sister’s phone is hitting the mast there now. I bet she’s gone to his house. She may even have keys, being the only living sibling. We need to get hold of her, okay? You can detain her on some bullshit and I can do the necessary,’ Slattery yelled over his screaming engine as he roared up the single-track road.
‘Shite, this is too heavy for me, man,’ McGee almost whimpered.
‘I don’t want to hear this. Get there, or I’ll be telling Hardie you let him down. Fancy that?’ Slattery bawled. He slid a fresh cigarette between his lips and lit it, wrestling with the steering wheel with a single hand, his jaw set firm.
40
‘Where are you?’ said Max into his phone as he drove into Latheron.
‘A hundred metres down from Leitch’s place, tucked in the small farmyard hidden by some large machinery. I’ve a decent view through the camera and I’m positive I can’t be seen,’ said Janie.
‘Awesome. I’ve found a spot with good cover in the centre of the village. Let me know when anyone arrives, and I’ll walk in.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Depends who shows up,’ said Max, picking up the small tracker he had purchased a few days ago in Glasgow and tucking it in his pocket.
‘Okay, stand by, stand by,’ said Janie. ‘There’s a great big Mitsubishi SUV cop car pulling up outside. Driver getting out. Hold up, I’m photographing as well. Yep, it’s McGee – he’s going up to the front door and knocking.’
‘Well, well. They have phone cell sites, as well. That’s interesting. Sit tight, and let’s see who else shows up.’
‘McGee is looking through the front window. Hold up, another vehicle. A silver Renault has pulled onto the side road and tucked into a parking bay.’ She read out the registration number.
‘Who’s driving?’
‘Bingo. It’s that sleazy bastard Slattery. He’s joining McGee up at the house. They’re standing chatting and now they’re heading to the rear of the terrace. There must be an alley or something along the back.’ Janie’s voice was tinged with excitement.
‘Right. Keep watching, I’m going to Slattery’s car now. I think we have a few moments but keep the line open.’
‘Be quick.’
Max jumped out of his car and walked briskly towards the main road. It only took thirty seconds before he saw the new model Renault tucked into its parking bay. Keeping his pace even, he walked until he was alongside the rear wheels of the car and then dropped to his knees, affecting tying a shoelace. Checking both ways and seeing no one, he flattened himself down and reached underneath the car, feeling the comforting snap as the magnets attached themselves to the top of the axle. Max stood quickly and walked off at a leisurely pace in the same direction, before turning towards the main road and Janie.
Two minutes later, he was sitting next to her in her vehicle.
‘More trackers?’
‘Aye. This is one I bought myself. I’ve still got the one off Bruce Ferguson’s car. I have an idea for a nice little distraction on that front.’
‘Is anyone not being tracked, right now? It seems like the good guys are being tracked whilst the bad guys are doing the tracking, and simultaneously being tracked,’ said Janie, shaking her head.
‘Aye, it could get confusing, but accelerated promotion should mean you grasp it easy. The difference is, we know we are being tracked, whereas the bad guys don’t know that we know, and don’t know that they are, in fact being tracked. Shit, I’m confusing myself.’
‘Straightforward stuff, Max, I can’t see what you’re struggling with. Wait up, they’re back.’ Janie raised the camera as McGee and Slattery stood out the front, looking up at the property. McGee shrugged his shoulders, whilst Slattery seemed to be speaking sharply at him, his finger jabbing with venom.
‘What next?’ asked Janie.
‘Is Liz’s phone still on?’
‘Yes, they can’t track us accurately on this old crappy Nokia. No GPS.’
‘Switch it off. I want to watch what happens.’
Janie powered down the old Nokia and tucked it back in the glove box.
It only took one minute before Slattery received a call, presumably telling him that the phone was now switched off. Max could clearly see the ex-cop’s scowl through the zoom lens.
‘He looks pissed, but it shows one thing for sure. These bastards have access to all the databases, and all the tools available to the police.’
‘Christ, is anyone straight in Police Scotland?’
‘We are, Janie. We’re doing the right thing, here, but we need to be very careful. Right now, Elizabeth is in hiding, and Bruce is on his way south to Glasgow, and they don’t have a clue.’
‘They could be watching the airports, I guess,’ said Janie.
A leather-clad motorcyclist swept into the farmyard next to Max and Janie and switched off the machine, a sporty-looking Honda. He pulled his helmet off and took a long drink from a water bottle he produced from a tank bag. He looked hot and sweaty and was clearly taking a quick break from touring the Highlands, a common sight on these long, sweeping roads. He paid no attention whatsoever to Max and Janie.
‘Maybe, but what are they going to do? Bruce is just an innocent flying to Spain, and anyway, I can probably use this to throw them off the trail,’ Max said, holding up the foil-covered GPS tracker he had removed from Bruce’s car.
‘I take it that isn’t your sandwiches,’ Janie said.
The rider jumped off the bike and headed towards the hedgerow, behind a steading, clearly looking for somewhere to relieve himself after a long ride.
‘Let’s put this to good use,’ said Max, opening the door and ripping the foil from the tracker. He quickly and without hesitation went to the bike and snapped the tracker in place on the frame concealed by the exhaust pipe.
Max stood and stretched, yawning as the rider returned, arranging his leather trousers.
‘All right, pal? Nice day for it,’ said Max.
‘Lovely day, bit hot though,’ the rider said in a strong Yorkshire accent.
‘Touring?’
‘Yes mate, doing the North Coast five hundred, and I’m up to John o’Groats now. Roads are beautiful,’ he said throwing his leg over the machine and sparking the engine, the twin exhaust pipes rumbling with the V-twin-engine power.
‘Enjoy,’ said Max, smiling.
‘I will,’ he said slipping the helmet back on and riding off, heading north, carrying the GPS signal away with him.
‘That’s going to put the cat among the pigeons. I just hope that poor biker doesn’t get topped,’ said Janie.
‘I can’t see it. Nothing in it for anyone to kill a total innocent, and anyway, they’ll never get close to him the way most of the bikers ride round here. They think it’s a bloody racetrack on the NC500. Let’s watch for Slattery’s reaction. I bet he has an alert set, and I should think the tracker will be hitting a satellite any time soon.’
Almost on cue, Slattery stopped his finger-pointing at McGee, and reached for his phone to look at the screen.
‘Boom. Thank you, global positioning satellites. Just look at the pair of them, doing this in plain sight. They’re so bloody arrogant, think they’re untouchable,’ said Max, watching, the camera focused on the pair, as Slattery stared intently at the handset. Max could imagine the head-scratching as the tracker signal had sparked up, as if by magic. Slattery and McGee both looked at the handset, conversing animatedly.
‘Right, switch on Liz’s phone now, Janie, and start heading south on the A9, quick as you can. I want it to hit the next mast south of here as soon as possible. I’m going back to my car and I’ll follow on. I want them to have one going north after the tracker and the other going south after Liz’s phone.’
‘You’re not just a pretty face, Sarge. In fact, you’re not even a pretty face, but that’s a smart move,’ said Janie.
‘Got to think on your feet, Constable. Right, get weaving, quick as you can. We need to get that signal heading south. Stay in touch, and we’ll meet up in Inverness, okay?’ Max didn’t wait for an answer. After getting out of the car he walked through the farmyard adjacent to where Slattery and McGee were still conversing, looking at the smartphone, a cloud of cigarette smoke surrounding them.
Once past them, Max emerged on the road and crossed towards a telephone kiosk in the centre of the village, which gave him a good view of McGee’s Police Mitsubishi. Slattery was gesticulating north to McGee when, he stopped and raised his phone to his ear. Even at fifty metres he could see the confusion on Slattery’s face, as he spoke. Clearly the news of the activation of Elizabeth Phillips’s mobile phone was arriving and the body language between the two men became even more agitated and confused.
All of a sudden it seemed a decision was made. After much finger-pointing and intense conversation McGee went to his Mitsubishi and roared off southbound onto the A9. Slattery began to jog back towards his car. Max raised his smartphone and set the video recording, capturing the scene before him as the Renault flew past him, heading north. He caught the intense look of concentration on Slattery’s face as he drove past, chasing the GPS signal that he would never catch.
Max smiled to himself as he walked back to his car and climbed inside. He dialled Janie.
‘All okay?’ she asked, the engine noise audible.
‘They took the bait. Slattery is heading north after the GPS and McGee is following Liz’s signal. I reckon he’s ten minutes behind you, but as it’s only a cell site he’s following he’ll never be able to catch up. Leave it an hour to get him well away and then switch off again, okay?’ Max said as he set off south at a steady speed. There was no rush, now.
‘All good, then. Where are we heading?’ asked Janie.
‘Head south, turn off into the Black Isle and go to the Allangrange pub in Munlochy. It’s nice there, and I’ll buy you something to eat. I’m starving.’
‘You’ve no idea how hungry I am, and you owe me food. We’re certainly making progress, here. I had no idea that these bent bastards were like this.’
‘We’re doing okay, but we need to assess where we are, then we go after them. We now have evidence against a bent cop and a bent ex-cop, but that’s not enough. I want the whole lot of them. The bent cops and the Hardies.’
‘Well, I’m with you. If they can get trackers on cars and cell site intel on phones, then we have no idea what else they could do. I don’t want to be part of a corrupt organisation.’
‘Me neither. We’re bringing them down. All of them.’
41
Slattery drove as fast as the winding roads would allow, a cigarette clamped between his lips, heading north in the wake of the GPS dot that pulsed on the screen of his phone in a cradle on the dash.
No matter how quickly he drove he just couldn’t make any ground up between him and the signal. He was a good driver, having completed all his police driving training all the way to class one, but it made no difference.
The hands-free phone rang in his car, the display showing the name of his contact at the intelligence unit.
‘Please tell me you have good news?’ Slattery said without preamble.
‘No can do, pal. Signal went off a few minutes ago having just hit a mast in Brora.’
‘Shit. Any calls?’
‘Nothing. Just handshake pulses all the way down the A9 as it passed masts, but nothing else.’
‘Bastard. Hardie’ll go nuts. Can you not get the phone intercepted?’
‘No chance, man. Way above my pay grade. It’s Home Secretary approval for that, and I can’t see that daft bint agreeing.’
‘Don’t get sarky with me. I know there are ways and means. Add it onto a list or something,’ barked Slattery.
‘There’s no way. I’d at least need ACC approval, and you’d need to get it past that eagle-eyed staff officer too. No chance, man.’
‘Christ’s sake, what are we paying you for? Leave it with me. I may have an angle on this. In the meantime, keep watching.’ Slattery hung up, swearing profusely whilst dialling again.
‘Jack?’ McGee answered.
‘Phone’s off again.’
‘Right. What do you want me to do?’
‘Keep going south until Brora, then wait there for an hour. If you don’t hear from me, head back north. I don’t want you being missed too much.’
‘Okay. Anything on the GPS?’
‘Aye, he’s flying, close to Durness right now. I can’t get close to him,’ said Slattery.
>
‘Jesus, that’s some going. Is he doing the NC five hundred?’
Slattery paused, turning this over in his mind. ‘It doesn’t make sense, does it? Why do the tourist route straight after the funeral when he lives in Spain? I just can’t see it.’
‘Well, if he’s doing the five hundred, he’s bound to stop at Durness or Kinlochbervie.’
‘Aye, I guess you’re right. Stay put for a wee while, then head north and get back to your patrol area. I’ll keep going.’ Slattery rang off.
He looked at the screen on his phone, still moving along the coast road heading towards Durness. There was no choice; he would have to call Hardie.
He quickly composed a message as he threw his finished cigarette out of the window.
I need to speak.
The reply was immediate: Wait five.
He continued driving for a few minutes before his phone burst into life. The display simply read “No Caller ID”.
‘News?’ Tam Hardie’s voice growled down the phone.
‘Ferguson was at the funeral. Slattery chucked a lump on his car and I’m following it now. Looks like he’s doing the NC500.’
‘What? Don’t talk shite, man.’
‘Aye. He headed north from Latheron, and I’ve never got close to him. Went up to John o’Groats and then headed across towards Durness. I’m sticking with him, but he’s moving at a hell of a pace.’
‘Don’t lose him. He can’t keep going forever. He’ll need fuel or a piss soon.’
‘Sure, but there’s something else.’
‘What?’
‘Elizabeth Phillips’s phone came online a wee while ago, right by her dead brother’s place in Latheron.’
‘Was she there?’
‘No, McGee and me were there within minutes, but there was no sign of her and the house is still tight since the police locked it up. I don’t think anyone has been there. The phone then headed south for a bit but went off line at Brora. I’ve a man monitoring it. He’ll let me know when it’s on again,’ said Slattery.
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