Dead Man's Grave

by Neil Lancaster

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. He answered.

  ‘You still there?’ It was Hardie.

  ‘Aye, no sign.’

  ‘Well, they won’t be there. Daft bitch called Craigie back to say she couldn’t face it and was going to bed for a while. Said she’d call him back later, then switched off her phone. Stay local in case she changes her mind, okay?’

  Slattery looked at the svelte form of Marta and smiled, slowly. ‘Sure thing, Tam.’

  The line went dead, and Slattery pocketed his phone. He stood and walked over to the bar, where Marta sat, a disappointed look on her face.

  ‘Hello, Marta,’ he said, smiling broadly.

  Marta looked around, her face lighting up at the sight of Slattery, ‘Jack, darling, so lovely to see you again.’ She leaped to her feet and threw her arms around his neck.

  Slattery returned her embrace, feeling her large breasts squashing against his chest, her sweet perfume overpowering in his nostrils.

  ‘What are you doing here, babe?’ she asked, her smile wide, her bright red lips framing white teeth, the front two of which were slightly gapped.

  ‘Oh, you know, just a wee drink. How about you?’

  ‘Supposed to meet a date, but he just call and stand me up,’ she said, her bottom lip extended in a charmingly childish way.

  ‘A coincidence, because my appointment has also failed to show. Fancy spending a little time with me?’ Slattery was surprised to find himself feeling a bit nervous yet excited at the prospect of a couple of hours in Marta’s sparkling company.

  ‘Jack, of course I spend time with you, my favourite client. I just a little hurt you not see me for a long time.’ Her Eastern European accent was delightfully sexy.

  ‘Can I buy you another drink?’

  ‘How kind. Champagne, of course,’ she said, giggling.

  Slattery ordered a bottle of horrifyingly expensive champagne and within a minute they were chinking glasses. He was delighted to feel her small, dainty hand resting on his upper thigh. It was a little strange, he thought. Marta was a whore. An expensive whore, admittedly, but still a whore. Being able to sleep with her was guaranteed, but he still liked to feel like this was seduction on his part, like she was genuinely interested in a middle-aged man with spectacles, and a body that was going to seed.

  One bottle of champagne led to another. It was so much fun to be laughing and joking with this goddess. She was a bright and intelligent girl, who had escaped a life of poverty in Slovakia, to find a lucrative use for her assets in Glasgow.

  ‘Is your place nearby, darling?’ slurred Jack.

  ‘Oh, what you take me for?’ She giggled.

  ‘Oh, don’t be a tease. You know how much I want you!’

  ‘Well, darling, let’s have another drink, then we go back to my place. It only five minute away.’ She raised her glass and clinked it with Jack’s.

  *

  Marta had drunkenly staggered with Jack the ten minutes back to her apartment, a small, clean and functional place in the heart of the West End. Within a minute they had been thrashing around on the bed, the room littered with their frantically discarded clothes.

  The sex had been quick and torrid, Slattery far too drunk to be anything that could be considered impressive. He was soon snoring in the large, rumpled bed, his spectacles askew on his nose, and his hair falling over his face.

  Once Slattery’s breathing had become deep and even, Marta disentangled herself from him and went to the small bathroom. Pulling a short robe on she returned to the bedroom and located her phone on the dresser and composed a short message.

  Now.

  Marta quickly picked up all of Slattery’s discarded clothing and folded it neatly on a chair in the corner of the room. Reaching into his jacket pocket, she found his phone and left the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her. She crept to the flat door and opened it.

  Janie stood there, smiling, a small laptop computer in her hand. Marta handed the phone over, a big smile on her face. ‘Janie, darling,’ she whispered. ‘It is Samsung. Unlock pattern is a “Z”. She mimed the drawing of the letter in the air. ‘Be quick, he may wake up soon, although he normally sleep deep, you know, like pig.’ She had a look of distaste on her face.

  ‘I’ll just be a minute,’ said Janie, squatting on the floor and attaching a cable into the phone. She clicked and pressed a few buttons, and within a minute it was done. She handed the phone back to Marta.

  ‘Thank you so much, Marta,’ Janie, whispered, reaching in and hugging her, warmly.

  Then she was gone, creeping down the stairs and out into the night.

  55

  Janie jumped into the unmarked Ford Mondeo, with Max at the wheel.

  ‘All good?’ said Max.

  ‘Marta is an absolute diamond. She even knew the unlock code for the phone.’

  ‘Impressive, although I have a feeling that she may have stretched her participating informant status a little in there,’ said Max.

  ‘I won’t tell if you don’t,’ said Janie.

  ‘Lips sealed and that. All good?’

  ‘Yep. After the call from Elizabeth Phillips’s phone, Slattery went straight to the wine bar. Surveillance team videoed him going in, and one of the team managed to go in and capture him in there on a bag camera. Your impression of Elizabeth Phillips making a phone call to me must’ve been good.’

  ‘Not difficult bearing in mind none of them know what she sounds like,’ said Janie.

  ‘How is the surveillance team?’

  ‘It’s like having the cast of EastEnders in Glasgow, but they’re good. They’re keen as mustard, probably because of the overtime they’re getting paid by Police Scotland.’

  ‘Well, everything has gone according to plan. Your tracker has been removed from Slattery’s car and replaced by an official one. They also have managed to get a probe in the car – audio only, so we’re good to go with Slattery.’

  ‘Well, with his phone downloaded, and his current and live phone number, we can start the evidential phone work,’ Janie said. ‘I’m not sure how, but the AC in the Met has sourced me a direct link into the Telephone Investigation Unit in London. We’ll be able to get live and real-time updates with no chance of compromise.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Max nodded at the digital clock. ‘It’s nearly 11 p.m. Let’s get back to the base and get a look at Slattery’s phone, identify the key numbers, and then you can see all the updates. Now this can all go in the evidential chain, we can nail these bastards.’

  *

  The base was a small self-contained unit in a new industrial estate on the edges of Glasgow. Ross had procured the place remarkably quickly on a short lease, via a covert purchase order, with a cover of being a newly formed double-glazing outfit.

  It had several offices and a large open garage space, protected by a roller shutter. It was perfect for their purposes. IT had quickly been installed along with phone lines and a secure storage area for the Met firearms officers to store their guns.

  Jill was at the office along with Ross when Max and Janie arrived.

  ‘All go okay?’ asked Ross, looking up from his computer.

  ‘Yep. Slattery’s phone download is here, and we’ve put a proper lump on his car in exchange for the one I bought from the spy shop. By the way can I claim expenses for the bloody thing?’ Max tossed the SD card, which Ross caught.

  ‘What, your slightly iffy, nay, highly illegal tracker that you attached to a hard-working ex-cop’s car? Can you shite. You can whistle for it.’

  ‘Thanks, so kind.’

  ‘Claim an extra couple of hours’ overtime.’

  ‘You already owe me shitloads of overtime whilst I was trying to sort out Police Scotland’s corrupt element. Oh, and saving poor Elizabeth Phillips from being beaten to death.’

  ‘Oh, quit being the big I am. Let’s look at this download,’ Ross said, a broad grin on his face. Despite everything that Max had been through, the piss-taking was already in ful
l flow, as it should be. It made him feel like he was back where he belonged, as part of a team.

  ‘Plenty on it,’ said Ross looking at a spreadsheet on his computer.

  ‘Lots of messages, some pictures and lots of call data. It’ll take a while to get through.’

  ‘Do we get an analyst?’ asked Jill from the corner of the room, also looking at a monitor.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Ross.

  ‘I have an intelligence download of the London job. We need to cross-reference the phones we have. So far, the timeline for the stabbing of poor Will Harding is that Eustace gets a message from a burner phone containing the photograph and address of the victim. There are then some calls between Fielding and the unknown number and then the photo goes from Fielding to his man who carries out the attack.’

  ‘What’s the number?’ asked Ross.

  ‘Ends 451,’ she replied.

  ‘Right, that’s the last number into Slattery’s phone,’ said Ross, his spectacles balanced on his nose. ‘Slattery also sent a message a wee while after, saying, “I’m here, no sign yet.”’

  ‘Bingo. So, whoever has that phone is the man who not only ordered the hit on Harding, but also on Elizabeth Phillips. We put that phone in someone’s hands, we have our man,’ said Jill.

  ‘We have just one of our men. Whoever has that phone clearly has access to intercept information. When I made that call to Elizabeth Phillips’s phone, they knew exactly where we were going to be. A cell site wouldn’t take them to the particular bar that I arranged to meet in,’ said Max.

  ‘Well, this proves what we suspected. Those bastards are somehow getting intercepts on phones. Jesus Christ.’ Ross blasted.

  ‘This isn’t just about low-level police corruption. They have everything. This goes to the highest levels of the force.’

  ‘I’ll call the chief.’ Ross raised his phone and dialled.

  ‘Sir, it’s Ross. Progress report.’ He then quickly and efficiently briefed the chief constable on the evening’s events. After he had finished, he listened for a few moments, and then nodded, as if the chief was standing in front of him. ‘We’re on it, Boss,’ and he hung up. Ross paused, looking at the team, his eyes full of worry. ‘You lot get going. It’s late. Get some kip, the chief wants to meet us here tomorrow morning at eight. This is much bigger than Hardie.’

  56

  Chief Constable Macdonald faced the five officers sitting in front of him, a determined look on his face. Max, Janie, Jill, Ross and Sally were all tired and weary, but there was a definite feeling of unity of purpose in the room, despite the lack of sleep.

  ‘Okay, ladies and gents, where are we?’ Macdonald asked.

  Ross told the chief about the previous night’s activity with Slattery and Marta.

  ‘Impressive lady, is Marta,’ said Max.

  ‘She certainly is,’ said Janie.

  The chief constable sighed. ‘You’ve no idea how much persuasion I had to use to convince the surveillance commissioners that using her was proportionate. So on one hand I’m glad we have proved what we suspected, but on the other I’m horrified that somehow, someone in my force could be this corrupt. The ramifications are going to be enormous.’

  ‘It was worth it, sir. We’ve captured a reasonable amount of data from the download on Slattery’s 500 phone. Evidentially it’s crucial, as this, linked with the reaction to the call made on Elizabeth Phillips’s phone, proves that Slattery is taking orders from the owner of the 451 number, who, it would seem is being fed intercepted phone calls,’ said Ross.

  ‘I’m genuinely relieved to hear all this. Who do we think is feeding 451 the intercepted calls?’ asked Macdonald.

  ‘The Met TIU are doing sterling service for us, Boss. 451 received a call immediately before calling Slattery from a number ending 786. It’s a fair assumption that this is the person passing the intercepts to 451. Predictably all numbers are burners, no data held, no top-up information and no intelligence leads on either,’ said Janie.

  ‘Cell sites?’ asked Ross.

  ‘451 is central Glasgow and rarely moves. It’s a densely populated area, so not much help. 786 has only been switched on intermittently, and on those occasions has been in central Edinburgh,’ said Janie, looking at her laptop.

  ‘How about Slattery’s phone?’ asked Macdonald.

  ‘Matches his movements, perfectly,’ Janie said, tapping at her computer.

  ‘We need more than this. Suggestions?’ said Macdonald.

  ‘Sir, what is objective number one?’ asked Max.

  ‘Guys, there are two equally vital objectives. Destroy the Hardies and bring each and every dirty cop down. We do this by solving these murders, all of them, whether in Caithness, Glasgow or London,’ said Macdonald.

  ‘Then we need a trigger incident. We need to chuck a rock in the pond and watch the ripples,’ said Max.

  ‘Okay, so what?’

  ‘We arrest McGee.’

  ‘Why McGee? Surely Slattery is the prime target,’ said Macdonald.

  ‘Think about it, the download of Slattery’s phone gives it all. McGee will doubtless have damning evidence on his phone, and we have a good shot at finding evidence of him organising the crash that killed Duncan Ferguson. We nick McGee, put pressure on him, and who knows where it’ll lead. It’s also absolutely bound to make a whole heap of ripples that we are now in a position to monitor,’ Max said, with conviction.

  ‘Can anyone think of a reason why we don’t do this?’ asked Macdonald.

  ‘I can only think of another reason to do it,’ said Jill from the back of the room.

  ‘We’re all ears,’ said Max.

  ‘Slattery’s car is lumped and probed up. We make a noisy arrest and let the jungle drums start to bang. We then sit and watch the phones and listen to the probe in Slattery’s car. I reckon the dodgy bastards will make it easy for us.’

  ‘This makes total sense to me,’ said Ross.

  ‘Then we do it tomorrow, travel up north today, get hotels and get him first thing. I have a management board meeting this morning with my DCCs at Tulliallan. I’m going to throw in a few breadcrumbs about an anti-corruption investigation. Janie, be ready to watch the phones after about eleven-thirty, okay?’

  ‘Sure thing, Guvnor,’ said Janie.

  ‘Ah, guys, we’re hanging with cockneys far too much, but maybe whilst this job is running, Guvnor is just fine,’ said Macdonald and everyone laughed.

  57

  Chief Constable Chris Macdonald stared at his command team of three deputy chief constables, all in uniform, their shoulders bedecked with the rank insignia denoting their lofty status. The only other occupants of the room were the deputy chief officer who wore a well-tailored suit. As a civilian, she held no rank, but was the senior, non-warranted member of the command team, responsible for budgets and corporate strategy. Macdonald’s secretary sat, her laptop open, minuting the meeting.

  The meeting had been entirely anodyne, up until now, mainly discussing the new corporate messages to be delivered to all staff in a few weeks. He was striving to simplify the strategies that he felt were overcomplicated and difficult for staff to get behind. He was about to throw a metaphorical hand grenade into the room very soon.

  ‘Anything to add, Jean?’ He nodded at Jean O’Neill, the DCC with lead for people and professionalism. She shook her head. ‘No, I think we’re all on board.’

  ‘Alan?’ he looked at DCC Alan Jones, a grizzled ex West Midlands detective, with responsibility for crime and operations.

  ‘All seems clear enough to me. Simpler message, easier buy-in, I’d say.’

  ‘Geoff?’ he said, smiling at DCC Geoff Caldwell, who was the officer in charge of local policing.

  ‘Absolutely clear as a bell. I’m sure local units will all get their shoulders to the wheel with this. Excellent leadership,’ he said in an educated Edinburgh burr.

  Macdonald forced a smile. In reality he loathed meetings with these snidey bastards. They’d all throw
him under a bus if they got the chance.

  ‘Finally, Lucy?’ Macdonald looked at Lucy Ritchie the deputy chief officer.

  ‘All the civilian staff will be completely on board.’ She smiled. At least she wasn’t after his job, he thought. In fact, Lucy was the only one of the lot he trusted.

  ‘Okay, well that’s nearly us, then. Once the graphics are ready, I want this message circulated widely on the internet. In fact, I’ll write an all-staffer to accompany it. It’s not negotiable, and we need all staff on board, okay?’ There were nods all around the table.

  ‘Okay, final thing. I’m looking into the feasibility of running an anti-corruption initiative very soon. I’m really concerned about some reports I’m getting from certain quarters about corruption derailing a number of live inquiries. I have some clean-skins looking at this now, reporting directly to me. I hope to be able to give a more detailed update at the next command team meeting, but for now, just leave it with me.’ He stood, shuffling his papers, indicating the meeting was over.

  No one else stood. ‘Sorry, Chris, can you say that again?’ said Jean, her face a mix of puzzlement and annoyance.

  ‘I’m sure you heard me, Jean. It doesn’t affect any other functions. I just want to explore the possibility of a new anti-corruption strategy.’ He smiled.

  ‘But, as lead for Professional Standards, surely I should be on this?’ said Jean, almost struggling for words.

  ‘Nope. This is my project. If it comes to anything, you’ll be the first to know. For now, this is merely exploratory. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment.’

  ‘Chris, what the hell is going on?’ blurted Alan Jones. ‘You can’t just run around like a bull in a china shop. This is sensitive stuff, and we are here to offer our expertise. This is no way to lead …’

  ‘Alan, maybe it’s time to remind you all that I am still the chief. This is my train set, and last time I looked, I make the calls. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve somewhere to be.’ Macdonald picked up his files and strode out of the room, leaving the angry voices behind him.