‘Their brother, Tam Hardie, is currently being urgently sought in connection with the offences, but his whereabouts are unknown. I have a team of officers searching for Tam Hardie, who should be considered dangerous and should not be approached. The public are asked to be on the lookout for this man, and any sightings should be urgently reported in to police by dialling 999.’ A high-definition image of Tam Hardie appeared on the screen, replacing the Police Scotland crest. He almost seemed to sneer down at them. ‘This investigation remains live,’ Macdonald continued, ‘and I anticipate that further arrests will be made in the near future. I am resolute in my determination that a small, but powerful corrupt element within Police Scotland is completely dismantled and the offenders brought to justice. The people of Scotland deserve a police force that is above reproach and I will not rest until any corrupt officers, or those that seek to corrupt police for their own benefit are brought to justice.’
‘Thank you, ladies and gents, that’s all I can give you at the moment. Know this: if you are a corrupt officer, or you are trying to corrupt serving police officers, then my team will find you. You will be caught and you will be jailed.’
Macdonald nodded, picked up his sheet of paper and walked out of the room without a backwards glance, as the reporters began to shout questions and the cameras chattered like a hundred rattle snakes.
71
Max sat in the CID office at Burnett Road next to Janie, both having just watched the chief’s press briefing on the wide-screen TV that hung on the wall.
Max’s face bore signs of the recent battle with Jack Slattery. His forehead was coloured an interesting shade of blue and black, with the small cut at the centre covered with steri-strips. The cut on his temple was dressed with a simple adhesive dressing, and for once Max was thankful of his absence of hair. He looked like he had done ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer.
They hadn’t been home since the arrests, only snatching an hour or two of sleep on the office floor, after Max’s wounds had been treated at the local hospital. He had refused all instructions to go home, intent as he was to see this job through to its conclusion.
The final task had been to gather the remaining evidence from Burnett Road that was still in secure storage after McGee’s arrest. They needed to collate all the evidence from the various strands of the inquiry, ready to present to the procurator fiscal in Glasgow, and it had to be done now, irrespective of their fatigue. Trusting someone else to do this just wasn’t an option. With Hardie still unaccounted for, they didn’t know who could be trusted.
‘Well, the chief certainly used the old theatre adage of leaving the audience wanting more, right?’ said Janie.
‘Aye. Enough to whet appetites, and get everyone looking for Tam Hardie. Any bent cops will be covering their tracks now, though.’
‘Worst of them are cleared up,’ said Janie, yawning.
It had been a tough couple of days of prisoner processing, gathering evidence, interviewing and completing the paperwork for the procurator fiscal. Most of the key evidence was from the mobile phones that linked McGee to Slattery and then onwards to the Hardies. The phone downloads had been enough for supporting evidence linking Hardie to Eustace Fielding, and then onwards between Slattery and DCS White. DI Beattie had been sunk after leaving enough of a trail to show that he had organised the cell-siting of the phones, together with the records of him talking to Slattery whilst in Caithness on the day of the funeral. Slattery was truly stuffed. Discharging a pistol in the direction of a police officer would only have one outcome. All in all, the case was solid. They just needed Tam Hardie, and, of course, whoever managed to get the intercepts on the phones. They’d drawn a blank on that, so far.
‘So, are we happy with the evidence?’ asked Janie.
‘Phones and Slattery’s listening device give it to us on a plate. Also, the grassing being done by Beattie is going to help. I’d say that the five in custody are slam dunk, but this isn’t done until Hardie and our final mystery cop are nicked.’
‘Aye,’ said Janie, standing up and stretching her back.
‘Cameras are deployed at all known premises for Hardie, his phone is hooked up. Port warnings are live and we have alerts on his financials. If he uses a phone, calls known associates, goes to any known addresses, or tries to access any of his accounts, he’s stuffed. He’ll turn up; they always do. Go home and get some sleep. It’s a shame we have two cars here, or you could sleep on the way back.’
‘You going too?’ asked Janie.
‘I guess so, most of the paperwork is done. Are you going to court in the morning?’
Janie shook her head. ‘Ross said not to bother as the chief has his trusted case-prep team dealing with the paperwork. I know for a fact that two of them are going with the files. All we need to do tomorrow is tighten all the phone downloads and make more copies of the recording from Slattery’s car. That’s key to the whole thing.’ Janie yawned, extravagantly again, unsurprisingly as they hadn’t been home for two days straight now.
‘It’ll wait till tomorrow. Have a lie-in,’ Max said.
‘Good work, Sarge. That was brave, what you did with Slattery, you know.’
Max just shrugged. ‘Get home, mate. We start tracking Hardie properly tomorrow.’
‘Yeah. I’m knackered. See you, Max.’ Janie smiled, her eyes full of fatigue. She reached over, and gripped his forearm with her hand, a brief moment of affection. ‘I’m glad we’re working together.’ She turned and walked off.
‘Drive carefully.’
Max picked up his mug and took a swig of cold tea. He screwed his face and put the mug back on the desk. He felt little satisfaction, because the job wasn’t done. Hardie was still out there and so was his biggest asset.
Max’s burner phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out. It was an email from the same mystery account that had sent him the extract of the phone call in London, what felt like days and days ago.
“He’s danc’d awa wi’ the Exciseman,” read the single line of text in the email body.
There was another media clip attached to the message. His heart sank, a huge sense of foreboding sweeping over him. He played the media clip. This was clearly a message from Bruce Ferguson.
It was two screenshots of WhatsApp messages between three telephone numbers that he didn’t recognise. One was just an address, the other a photograph of a small, terraced cottage. He recognised both immediately and his blood ran cold.
The first was Katie’s home address. The home they had shared together until just six months back. The message was timed three hours ago.
The photograph was of Aunt Elspeth’s cottage in Avoch with a line of text below.
Elspeth Craigie’s place in Avoch. Anything else you need, just shout. J. The picture was timed just an hour ago.
There was a reply below.
Thx. Speak later, T
A mix of rage and fear flared in Max’s gut. His head swam and it felt as if a cog had worked loose in his brain. No, not Katie, not Elspeth. His thoughts flared and the familiar darkness began to cloud his vision as icy rage took hold. He shook his head. He had to focus, had to act.
Max dialled on his burner, aware that the number would be unfamiliar. But he still didn’t want to use his phone, not knowing who could be listening. The phone rang, but the tone wasn’t familiar; it was a single, long tone.
‘Hello?’ Katie’s warm voice sounded confused.
‘Katie, where are you?’ Max blurted out.
‘Max, what’s up? We’re not supposed to be speaking – you know, our agreement?’
‘Katie, please, where are you and are you okay?’
‘I’m fine. I’m on holiday in Greece with Jodie, last-minute girls break. I was going to phone when I got back.’
Max collapsed onto his chair, relief flooding though him.
‘How long are you away for?’
‘A week. We only got here today. Are you okay? You sound stressed.’
M
ax paused. ‘I’m fine. I just wanted to say hi. Look, I have to go, work thing. Speak soon, okay?’ He tried to keep his voice level, despite the turmoil raging within him.
‘You sure you’re okay?’
‘Aye, I’m fine. Have a good time, and say hi to Jodie.’
Max hung up and picked up his normal phone. He opened WhatsApp and dialled Elspeth’s number using the video message function. The call failed immediately with three beeps. He tried again. Same result. His stomach began to knot in fear as he quickly typed out a message. She always carried her phone in her hip pocket, ready to feel the buzz of a message or video call. She usually replied immediately, phone messages being one of the things she relied on for staying in contact with friends and family.
Hi Auntie E. Hope you’re well. Are the dolphins running at the moment? Someone was asking me as they want to visit Chanonry. This was innocuous enough, to not raise alarm, if someone was watching.
Nothing. There was no response at all. It was almost 7 p.m., and Elspeth rarely went anywhere after supper, preferring to watch TV or read. Max looked at the message. There was just one greyed-out tick, meaning that the message had not got through. Either the phone was out of range of a mast or switched off. Elspeth never switched her phone off, ever, and the signal was good at her house, both 4G and Wi-Fi.
72
Max stared at the phone, willing it to ring or vibrate. It just sat there in his hand, inert, almost mocking him. His mind reeled at the prospect of his aunt being held captive, or worse. She had been a massive part of his life, so far, almost a surrogate parent after Mum and Dad had passed away. His resolve hardened. He would do whatever was necessary to keep her safe.
He picked up the burner and dialled the number for Ferguson.
‘I imagined you’d call, Max, but don’t ask me how I came across this information. I just wanted to help.’ His voice was calm, without a trace of stress or panic.
‘Understood. Why are you doing this?’
Ferguson sighed before continuing. ‘Max, whilst my name is Ferguson, I’ll always be a little bit of a Leitch, too. I’m not going to spend the rest of my life looking out for that bastard Hardie, you understand?’
‘Me neither. What is it that you want, Bruce?’
‘I want justice. Justice for my brother, and I want the Hardies finished for good. They were evil bastards in the 1800s and they’re evil today. They’ll never stop. You’ve got Frankie and Davie, but it’s not enough. You have to get Tam and lock him up forever.’
‘That’s the intention, but first I need to make sure my aunt is safe.’ Max tried to keep his tone level, but his voice cracked with emotion.
‘Of course. I managed to pick up the new phone number for Hardie, which went live just after you smashed his doors off their hinges. It then travelled north and was last on the network an hour ago hitting a cell mast at Mount Eagle on the Black Isle.’
‘My aunt lives close to there.’
‘I know, in Avoch, and you’re close by, right?’ he said, blithely.
‘I’m in Inverness, just fifteen minutes away,’ said Max.
‘That’s something, I guess.’
‘How do you know all this?’
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. ‘I look after a multi-billionaire who among other interests has control of telecommunications suppliers and other tech companies. This affords me access to many databases that may impact on his security or financial interests. I want to help you, not for revenge, or anything like it, but because it’s the right thing. You’re a good man, a fellow veteran who has been fighting against the odds. I’ll do what I can.’
‘So why the Rabbie Burns quote?’
‘To get your attention. I know what was in poor Willie’s journal. He showed me it once, and I told him he was mental. It’s unfortunate that I didn’t appreciate how right I was. If I had done something, years ago, when he was losing his mind, maybe this silly feud would have stayed dead, and all those people would still be alive. I owe it to everyone who has been hurt, Max. I feel partly responsible.’
‘Thanks. So, what can you do for me?’ asked Max.
‘I can be your eyes and ears. You still haven’t rooted out the worst cops yet. I’ll be watching, both your phone and his. How does that sound?’
‘It’s a start.’
‘It’s better than that. We’re ahead of him, especially as his bent cop is no longer feeding him cell sites as far as I can see.’
‘That’s something, I guess.’
‘His only other calls were to his solicitor, Leo Hamilton, straight after the raids, and then the ones about your wife and aunt’s places. He’s switching it off and changing SIMs regularly. I can keep up with that, as I’m watching his handset IMEI number, so I can stay on top unless he ditches the phone. I’ll keep monitoring the calls, but one thing: don’t trust any bastard in Police Scotland. You’ve dealt a lot of them a big body blow, but they aren’t down yet. There are still plenty of them left, all wanting this to go away. You’re the fly in their ointment.’
Max felt a pressure building in his head, a throbbing at the temples. It was a mix of stress and fury gathering pace and getting worse as the enormity of the situation raged in him.
‘Right, I’m going now,’ said Max, standing up, suddenly resolute. He would do whatever was necessary to bring Hardie down.
‘Be careful. Are you willing to be as ruthless as these bastards are?’
‘I hear you.’
Bruce was already gone. His guardian angel was looking out for him, which afforded some level of comfort, but essentially, he had to do this alone. Not because of trust issues – he trusted Janie and Ross – but because to have the best chance of saving Elspeth he may have to cross a line that they wouldn’t be able to cross. In fact, if he made it official and called in the cops, he wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the case. He’d be kicking his heels at home whilst a massive operation was launched to safeguard Elspeth, and with the leaks not completely plugged in Police Scotland, he wasn’t willing to take that risk. The other problem was, whilst Max loved Elspeth, he was realistic enough to realise that she could be irascible and a complete fatalist. She would be most likely to not want any fuss, and refuse all protection offers, and tell the cops to bugger off.
He picked up his shoulder harness that contained his handcuffs, telescopic baton and PAVA spray and shrugged it on, thankful at least to have some protective equipment. He picked up his car keys and jogged out of the building, his jaw set firm.
73
Max parked the BMW in the car park of the Station House Hotel well away from Elspeth’s place. He pulled his jacket on over his PPE harness, locked the car and jogged off towards the rocky shoreline. Jumping over the low wall, he landed on the stony beach. He walked parallel with Elspeth’s small, two-bedroomed terraced cottage that was midway along a street of identical properties.
Max’s route along the rocky shore took him past Elspeth’s road to the rear of the properties, each of which had small, pocket-handkerchief-sized gardens. Max climbed over the wall and walked along the street to the rear of Elspeth’s. He walked confidently and normally, as if he belonged, in classic surveillance mode. This was easy for Max, because these small, quaint roads were as familiar to him as anywhere.
The rear of Elspeth’s house was obvious, owing to the proliferation of shrubs and bushes that rose from the small, square garden. The amount of greenery that Elspeth had crammed into that small space always amazed Max. A low, blue-painted picket fence with a gate marked the boundary. The low sun glared at the rear of the property, the shrubbery bathing the small garden in dappled shade. A solitary wooden chair was positioned to the left of the glazed rear door, a glass on the arm containing the remnants of Elspeth’s regular gin and tonic. Max walked past the gate and turned immediately into the house next door, which was separated from Elspeth’s by a tall, panel fence. Max knew that an old guy called Ted lived there who was, almost without fail, three-quarters
pissed at the Station House Hotel by this time of the evening.
Max just sat for a few minutes, listening for any sounds of movement from within Elspeth’s house, but there was nothing. Just the soft lapping of the waves from the sea and an occasional cry from a seagull.
He turned and peeped through a crack in the fence at the back of Elspeth’s house. The kitchen was at the rear, with no sign of life and no sounds of cooking or a TV. Despite her deafness, Elspeth would turn the sound on the TV up, and use her hearing aids together with subtitles. She always said it gave her the best experience of watching her favourite programmes. There was no movement at the upstairs bedroom windows, no flickers and no obvious lights. This was unusual.
Max made a decision. He was going in. She could be in there injured or held captive and he couldn’t just stay here forever.
Quickly and without hesitation, Max stood and left Ted’s garden, turned right and walked into Elspeth’s lush, green space. He pulled out his baton from the shoulder harness and unclipped the PAVA, holding the canister in his left hand and the baton in his right.
Slowly he reached out to the doorknob and twisted gently. He wasn’t in the least bit surprised to find it open. Elspeth never locked her door; in fact she had no idea where the backdoor key even was. Black Islers rarely locked their doors, such was the absence of crime among the population. He silently moved into the kitchen, sniffing the air for anything unusual, but it just smelt like he always remembered. A mix of faint cooking smells, mild disinfectant and a faint whiff of lavender. It hadn’t changed in all the years he’d been visiting this place. He found the smell almost comforting. It made him think for a moment that perhaps everything was okay.
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