Dead Man's Grave

by Neil Lancaster

  ‘So, no calls on our normal phones, right?’

  ‘Quite the opposite, Janie. I’m going to call you straight after this on some pretence, just chat to me and sound normal. We need them to think we don’t know, okay?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Are you working today?’

  ‘I’m at court this morning, and this afternoon I have more camera footage from the trafficking job to review. Deep joy. I’m getting properly stiffed at the moment. Did you know that I’m being referred to by the twats in the office as “Fast-Track Fannie”?’

  ‘Can’t say I did,’ said Max, the corners of his mouth twitching and his eyes crinkling, trying desperately not to laugh.

  ‘It’s not funny, Sergeant,’ said Janie.

  ‘Definitely not. I’ll have words when I’m back.’

  ‘Oh great, then I’ll be Fast-Track Fannie the grass, instead.’

  ‘How’s Ross behaving?’

  ‘Odd. Not as abusive as normal and he doesn’t seem to want me going out much. Are we sure about him? With everything that’s going on, he’s behaving awful strange.’

  Max turned this over in his mind for a few moments, not knowing what to make of it. He had hardly thought of Ross since leaving the offices a few days ago, which was really odd, given the circumstances. He thought he trusted him, but in light of recent events, he now had doubts. ‘Ask me that question a few days ago, and I’d have said a resounding yes, but with everything that’s gone on, I just don’t know. Simple answer: beyond you, I don’t trust any bugger.’

  ‘Understandable.’

  ‘Just keep your head down. I’ll speak to you soon.’ Max hung up. He immediately took out his other phone and called Janie again.

  ‘Hi, Max, you okay?’

  ‘Hi, Janie, you working today?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m at court this morning at Glasgow Sheriff’s, then office this afternoon. How are you feeling?’

  ‘I’m fine. Fancy meeting for a coffee?’

  ‘Sure, I’ll be done by one. Where?’

  ‘Usual place.’

  ‘Nice, I’ll buy you a sandwich. Any word on your occupational health appointment?’

  ‘Not yet, as to be expected,’ said Max, smiling to himself. Any listener would be learning nothing by this call.

  ‘Okay, well, see you at one, then.’

  Max sipped his coffee once more and looked at Nutmeg, who was staring at him intently and hopefully. ‘Come on then, let’s go for a walk.’

  *

  It was almost eight by the time Max and Nutmeg returned from the walk in the fields around the house, and the little dog’s lolling tongue told the story of an energetic hour spent chasing a tennis ball.

  Max dialled the number given to him by Tony, a little knot of nerves in his stomach. It was not often that any officer spoke to the chief constable of a force, especially not in circumstances such as these.

  The phone was answered on the third ring.

  ‘Max?’ The voice was deep, confident and resonant with a distinct Edinburgh accent.

  ‘Yes,’ was all that Max replied.

  ‘I had a long conversation with AC Fowler last night and I think I understand the issues. Can we meet this morning?’

  ‘Of course, sir. When and where?’

  ‘You know the Best Western in Crossford?’

  ‘Aye, only about fifteen minutes away from me.’

  ‘Well, I’m there, room twenty-eight. Can you come now?’

  ‘Sure, I’ll get going.’

  ‘Great. One thing: Jeanette said you had prepared a useful PowerPoint briefing. Do you have it?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Bring it, will you?’ The phone went dead.

  Max went to the cupboard and retrieved his bike jacket and helmet and picked up the SD card that contained the briefing from the mantelpiece.

  After going out to the garage, he slid his fingers behind the skid-plate and pulled the tracker off, snapping it onto the side of a dumbbell. Gunning the engine, he rode off sedately down the track. As soon as he hit the road at the bottom, he opened the taps, the engine roared and he sped off. He had a route in mind, which would, should anyone try to follow, leave them simply grasping at thin air. Following an experienced surveillance officer is difficult. Following one on a high-powered motorcycle is impossible.

  52

  Max parked his bike at the rear of the hotel, tucked well out of sight from the road. It was a typical chain hotel with a glazed door to reception. Max saw a guest exit the hotel from the rear car-park door that was operated with a room card. He smiled and stepped to one side as the guest, a man in a cheap-looking suit, carrying a briefcase, exited, acknowledging Max with a nod. Max entered the hotel and strode, as if he belonged, along the corridor, as always remembering his surveillance training. If you look like you belong, no one will question why you are there. He continued along the worn carpet and turned where an arrow pointed to rooms fifteen to thirty. Following the sign, Max was soon stood outside room twenty-eight. He took a deep breath, aware that he was about to meet the most senior police officer in Scotland, in relation to his own activities, which even his least vocal critic could reasonably call “questionable”.

  Max knocked twice, softly. There was a click and the door opened slowly. Ross Fraser stood there, resplendent in a rumpled blue suit, his red face split with a wide, genuine smile. ‘Max Craigie, ya wee bastard. Come on in, the boss is waiting, and he’s even got breakfast in, which isn’t like him, as he’s normally tight as arseholes.’

  ‘I resent that remark, Ross,’ rang out the familiar voice of the Chief Constable of Police Scotland.

  53

  Chief Constable Chris Macdonald handed a steaming mug of coffee across to Max. The table was laden with pastries and a bowl of fruit. Max was surprised to see no bed in the room, just a few armchairs and a desk with a laptop on it. He was even more surprised to see Jill Strother sitting on one of the chairs, a tablet computer in her hand.

  ‘Fancy seeing you here, mate,’ she said, grinning widely.

  ‘Well, I’m a little surprised. Anyone want to tell me what’s going on? Good morning, sir, by the way,’ said Max, confusion swirling around his head. There had obviously been much liaison and planning in the few hours since he briefed AC Fowler.

  Chief Constable Macdonald looked at Max with amusement. Max had only ever seen the head of the force on television, although his reputation was solid. He was well fleshed, in his late forties, with short, dark hair. He was dressed in an open-neck shirt with dark suit trousers. His face was lined and creased with laughter lines at the corner of his grey eyes.

  ‘Have a seat. You’re probably a bit surprised to see both Ross and Jill here, I imagine.’ His voice was rich and smooth.

  ‘A little. Looks like things moved quickly after I left London yesterday.’

  ‘Pretty much. I got the call from Jeanette Fowler yesterday and she was kind enough to give me a very brief overview of what has been happening and how the cases in Scotland and London overlap. I asked for a representative from the inquiry team into the attempted murder in Enfield, hence Jill’s presence.’

  ‘Fair enough. I also wasn’t expecting to see Ross here, either.’

  ‘Thanks for your support, Max,’ said Ross, crumbs from a pastry flying from his mouth, as he managed to chuckle and cough at the same time.

  ‘Well after you bawling me out, and then leaving me flailing under the weight of nauseating shite from DCS White, I really don’t know what to think,’ said Max, feeling his cheeks begin to flush.

  ‘Perhaps it would help if I explained a little about where we are, and what I want to achieve. But before I do, let me explain why Ross is here. I’ve known Ross for many years; in fact we were PCs together in Glasgow almost thirty years ago. Part of Ross’s responsibilities in his current role has been as a pair of eyes and ears inside the serious and organised crime command. There is nobody in this force I trust more than Ross, okay?’ Macdonald said, soft
ly.

  ‘Aye, you can call me DI Golden Bollocks, Craigie,’ said Ross, his cheeks bulging with pastry as he chewed furiously. Ross loved nothing more than food, particularly if he hadn’t paid for it.

  ‘I understand that, Guvnor, and I’ve no beef with Ross. For days now, I’ve been fighting this battle alone, had my motorbike bugged, probably my phone tracked and possibly intercepted and had to stop the murder of an innocent woman. I’ve been vilified, had my mental health questioned and I’m now wondering just how far the corruption goes in this bloody force. I’ve been roundly ignored. Just who is in control of Police Scotland, because it doesn’t feel like we are?’ Max surprised himself at the strength of feeling in his voice.

  ‘I get how you feel, Max. If you give me a chance, maybe I can help you understand.’

  Max sat on one of the vacant chairs. ‘I’m listening.’

  Macdonald sat behind the desk with the open laptop. ‘Since I took over Police Scotland, not all that long ago, I’ve been really concerned about the impact and reach of corruption within our ranks. As you probably know, I was recruited from GMP, to move the force forward after the many problems that were highlighted in gory detail over the past few years. Anything I’ve tried so far has met obstacles and difficulties and it’s probably fair to concede that I haven’t made the strides I would have liked. The homicide command, it would appear, is riven with corruption, at many levels, and it seems this extends to senior officer level.’

  ‘With the deepest of respect, sir. No shit, Sherlock.’

  ‘Max …’ began Ross, clearly thinking of remonstrating with Max’s insubordination, but he was stopped by a glare from Macdonald.

  ‘I think Max has a point. The fact that this corruption has become so endemic is a poor reflection on all of us. What is important is what we now do about it. Will you work with us on this, Max?’

  ‘Of course. I want them stopped. I joined the police to be one of the good guys,’ said Max with feeling.

  ‘Of course, we all did. Most of us stayed on that path, but some didn’t and together we can stop them.’

  ‘What, just us?’

  ‘We have friends to call upon, which is why Jill is here.’

  ‘Whatever you need from London, mate, you get,’ said Jill firmly. ‘The AC has promised surveillance, phone work, analysts – anything, mate. West London is bubbling with tension right now, and they want it to stop. We stop it by nicking those who organised the hit on that young lad.’

  ‘Exactly, and between those of us in this room, we have some people we know we can trust. Firstly, Max, can you bring us up to date with this briefing?’

  Max pulled out the SD card from his pocket and handed it over to Macdonald, who took it and slotted it into the port on the computer.

  Ross shuffled his chair alongside Macdonald, and silently they clicked through the slides, taking in the text, images and video clips. When it was finished, they exchanged a wordless look.

  ‘Shit,’ said Ross. ‘I didn’t realise it was this bad. I know Slattery and I don’t like the bastard one little bit, the snidey wee radge.’

  ‘He makes all this possible for Hardie. He’s the conduit into the teams. It’s the classic tactic that was once rife in the Met,’ said Max.

  Macdonald stared at Max, a look in his eyes that he couldn’t fathom. ‘I don’t say this lightly,’ he said. ‘You’ve done a tremendous job here, under the most terrible circumstances and I’m sorry that we weren’t able to prevent this from happening. People are dead who shouldn’t be dead because of this corruption and you weren’t listened to. What do you think we should do?’

  Max paused for a second, almost surprised to find a touch of emotion rising in his chest.

  ‘We need some people, Guv. Just a few good people, and then we really take the fight back to them. We go proactive, we go covert, and we bring them down. All of them.’

  There was a silence in the room whilst Max’s words sunk in.

  ‘Who do you need?’ asked Macdonald.

  ‘We need a surveillance team, preferably armed. I suggest a London team, get them up here at a covert location and we use them. We need unrestricted access to phone data, live cell sites and immediate access to any tech. All activity needs to be authorised covertly and not through the usual channels.’

  The chief nodded. ‘I’ll speak to AC Fowler in London, and perhaps, Jill, if you link in, we can raise a team to relocate to Scotland for a short while?’ Macdonald looked at Jill who nodded.

  ‘The boss anticipated this possibility, sir. I think a team has been identified, and I’m assured that the Met’s telephone intelligence unit is primed to assist with data and cell sites, if required. We have a dog in this fight, after all,’ said Jill.

  ‘Excellent. Authority levels you can leave to me, but if London can also liaise with the phone companies, that will be another layer of risk reduced and it would speed things up, massively. Who do you want to be point of contact for the data?’

  ‘Janie Calder. She’s trustworthy,’ said Max.

  ‘Janie’s a little green, Max, and, if I’m honest, a bit odd,’ said Ross.

  ‘She’s not odd, Ross. She’s just not being given a chance by some of the bloody Neanderthals in the office. She’s smart, resourceful, and more importantly she’s proved her worth over the last few days. I want her with us.’

  ‘Consider it done. As she’s accelerated promotion, she’s due a rotation. I’ll have her seconded to a project under my direct control. Not unusual for this to happen,’ said Macdonald.

  ‘Who else do we trust enough to bring in on this?’ asked Ross.

  ‘Sally Smith, no doubt about it. She has the benefit of knowing the background of the case well and I’m convinced she’s straight. She’s as frustrated as we are about what is happening,’ said Max.

  There was another pause in the conversation that was a little uncomfortable. They all knew that a journey was starting that would be difficult and involve going up against colleagues.

  ‘First objectives?’ asked the chief.

  ‘Parallel prove by conventional and admissible means all of what Max has uncovered by unconventional means,’ said Ross. ‘We also need the tracker off Slattery’s car, probably replacing it with a new one.’

  ‘Agreed. Any suggestions on tactics moving forward?’ asked Macdonald.

  ‘I’ve a suggestion,’ said Max.

  ‘Go on,’ said Macdonald.

  ‘Test out their capabilities. We need to know what they know, and then decide who to target first. We look at McGee, then we look at Slattery. Slattery is the conduit in all of this. We get Slattery, we get to the lot of them,’ said Max, forcefully.

  54

  A few days later

  Jack Slattery was driving into Glasgow, just as the evening rush hour had finished, ready to meet a possible new contact. He’d heard a whisper from one of his tame cops that this officer, who worked in covert policing, was “approachable”. He was just looking for a parking space in the West End of Glasgow, close to the pub where he had been told the man drank, when his phone rang.

  ‘Yeah?’ he said, as he reversed into the bay.

  ‘Where are you?’ said Tam Hardie.

  ‘Just in the West End. What’s up?’

  ‘Elizabeth Phillips has called Craigie. They’re meeting at seven in Luigi’s Wine Bar in Nile Street. Get there now. The cell site for the phones are both in the city close to the place. Does Craigie know you?’

  ‘No, I’ve never met him.’

  ‘You know what he looks like, though?’

  ‘I’ve seen a picture.’

  ‘Okay, well get there, now, before they do. You still have the thing with you?’

  ‘No man, it’s at home.’

  ‘Ah, fucking hell. Look, just keep an eye on them, and I’ll send some boys. Follow them if you need to, but don’t let the bastards out of your sight.’ Tam hung up.

  Slattery drove straight out of the parking space and began to head to Lu
igi’s, which was only ten minutes away.

  Sweat began to bead on Slattery’s top lip and nerves gripped his stomach. Despite having just put one out, he reached for another cigarette, lighting it with a trembling hand. He didn’t like this at all. Craigie was supposed to be really careful, a very shrewd operator. Slattery was glad he’d left the pistol at home, hidden in his shed. He really didn’t know if he’d the courage to shoot someone in cold blood, especially not a policeman. He wondered just how Hardie had come by this information. Could Hardie have got an intercept on the phones, already? Jesus, he knew that Hardie had influence, but getting a phone tapped, especially that of a serving cop, was on the next level.

  Fortunately, the traffic was light and within a few minutes, he was pulling up just one street away from Luigi’s. A short walk and he was pushing the door open into the sleek wine bar. He used to drink in there pretty regularly, finding it a good place to meet contacts. Nice and quiet, with intimate booths covered in white, faux leather.

  He went to the bar and ordered a lager and sat in a booth at the rear of the place that gave a good view of both entrances. He sipped his beer and checked his phone. Seeing nothing, he composed a quick WhatsApp to Tam.

  I’m here, no sign yet.

  The bar wasn’t busy, only a few early evening drinkers getting noisy, necking overly expensive designer beers, or flutes of prosecco.

  He was staring at his phone, scrolling through the newsfeed, when he heard the door swing open. It wasn’t Craigie or Phillips, but recognition flashed in his mind when he saw the stunningly beautiful girl sweep into the bar. It was Marta, and she was dressed to kill, as she often was, being one of the most expensive escorts in Glasgow. She used to work in Hardie’s prostitution empire but had managed to get away from him and now was a freelancer advertising herself on internet sites. She sashayed up to the bar and sat demurely on a bar stool, her short skirt rising to show an inappropriate amount of tanned thigh. The sight of her long, silky hair, skin-tight top and impossibly high heels almost made him forget why he was here. He quickly realised that he wasn’t the only pair of eyes in that bar watching her. Marta had that effect on men.