Max looked at the map open on his lap. ‘The gardens take up most of that area, which only leaves us a small grid of streets north of them in Kelvinside. Can they narrow it further?’
‘Doubt it, we have it down to half a dozen streets. I’m calling the boss.’ Ross dialled, once again.
‘Sir, signal is down to one of a few streets in Kelvinside, message not replied to yet. Aye, that’s what I wondered. Yeah, we’ll wait for the reply.’ Ross hung up. ‘As far as he knows, the chief doesn’t believe that any of his management team live around there.’
‘That means nothing.’ Max stared down at the screen and swallowed. ‘We’ve two blue ticks. Message has been seen.’ The adrenaline started to blow his debilitating fatigue away. ‘We should get the surveillance team on standby, Ross,’ he added.
‘Go for it, pal. You speak cockney better than me.’
Max snorted before pressing his concealed radio switch pinned to his T-shirt, ‘Stand by, stand by. We have unknown subject in receipt of message, currently stationary close to Royal Botanical Gardens in Kelvinside.’
‘That’s all received by surveillance control. Stand by for plotting,’ said a broad cockney accent.
‘See, I barely understand the bugger,’ said Ross with a grin.
The voice then began to assign each of his units: seven cars and a single motorcycle. Each got a road junction to cover, ready for the subject, whoever it was, to make a move.
‘Listen to him. It’s like Dick Van Dyke on the streets of Glasgow,’ said Ross, chuckling again.
‘Someone is writing a message,’ said Max looking at the screen.
There was a buzz as the message arrived.
Why?
Max typed out a reply. Not over the phone, it’s urgent.
There was a long pause, before the screen indicated that someone was typing again.
Seven-thirty, benches outside Kibble Palace in Botanical Gardens. Just you.
Max smiled as he read out the message, ‘they’ve bitten.’
‘Half an hour, so he’s staying nearby,’ said Janie.
‘You seem sure he’s a man? We don’t know that for sure,’ said Ross.
‘Money where your mouth is, Ross?’
‘I’m not taking that bet. I’m not pissing daft,’ said Ross.
Max was speedily googling the Botanical Gardens. ‘Gardens open at seven. Can we get the surveillance team in, plotting the benches before then?’
‘Walls are low, so I’d say yes. You call the team leader on the phone and explain. They’re defensively armed. You reckon that’s enough?’ he asked.
‘Should be fine, no suggestion of a threat, is there?’ said Max.
‘Nah, no threat from this bastard,’ said Ross, dialling.
Max nodded, but couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over, just yet.
Not by a long way.
76
The weak, early morning Glasgow sun was warming the streets as the gates were unchained and unlocked on the Botanical Gardens by an unsmiling, hi-vis-clad member of staff. He yawned as he let in a jogger and a couple of staff members waiting to go to work. Max, Ross and Janie had hung back as the team scaled the low walls and took up positions surrounding the row of benches. They were outside the long glass building that was the historic greenhouse, at the far west side of the seventy-acre gardens.
Although Max and Janie were both surveillance trained, they had opted to stay back in their car and let the London team take care of this. Once the target turned up, Max would walk through to identify whoever it was and make the arrest. There were multiple entry points, so they decided to let the target enter and settle before moving in. Now they waited, all sipping strong coffees that Ross had bought from an early morning coffee shop.
‘Ready for this, Max?’ said Ross, sipping his drink.
‘Aye. Ready as I’ll ever be. I’ve never nicked a senior cop, but I’m looking forward to it.’
‘Well, the chief is staying away. He specifically said he wanted you to bring him or her in.’
‘Bet’s still on offer,’ said Janie.
‘Sod off,’ he said.
‘Lone male approaching benches from east side, blue hoodie, blue jeans, black baseball cap pulled low. He’s very aware and has his eyes about. Not got a great view of face, but looks to be middle-aged,’ said a broad northern accent, over the radio. ‘He’s pausing by the benches, looking each way and seeming uncomfortable.’
‘Sounds like our man. You ready, Max?’ said Ross.
‘As I’ll ever be.’
The northern surveillance officer spoke again. ‘He’s sitting, on his own, third bench from the entrance to the greenhouse. We have our man. Team move up, block exits, but stay out of sight. Units acknowledge.’
‘Go for it, Max. We’ll move in as soon as you make the arrest. Surveillance team have your back,’ said Ross.
Max said nothing, just got out of the car and crossed to the open gate. He walked through, still carrying his coffee. He felt calm, relieved that this whole situation was about to be finished.
He continued along the broad, tree-lined path towards the Kibble Greenhouse.
The covert earpiece crackled. ‘No change, no change. Still sat, same bench, looking at watch,’ said a male officer.
Max looked at his own watch. It was seven-thirty-seven and Glasgow was waking up. A jogger loped past, panting heavily.
Max rounded the corner on the path and saw the figure sat, exactly as described on the bench, not relaxed, staring at the ground, his shoulders hunched. He felt for Hardie’s phone and sent the pre-written message.
There in five minutes.
His cap was pulled low down partially obscuring his face, but even with this obstruction, there was no doubt that Ross had been wise not to accept Janie’s wager. Almost on cue, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a mobile, scowling at the screen and looking around.
Max pressed the concealed transmit switch in his pocket. ‘Backup foot unit, I have the eyeball and a positive on the phone. I now have control. Suspect on the bench and I’m approaching. All units stand by for my signal before moving in,’ he said, his lips barely moving.
Max continued, walking confidently straight up to the lone man and sat next to him with a sigh.
The man jumped slightly and looked at Max. He was clearly expecting Tam Hardie. Confusion and recognition flashed on the man’s lined face along with irritation at having someone sit close to him. Max recognised him, though. Senior officers loved having their photographs plastered on the force’s intranets, and they all competed to get in front of the press cameras at every opportunity. Also, he hadn’t forgotten about the praise that this man had heaped on him and Janie, just a few days ago.
Max recognised him all right.
‘Excuse me, pal, but can you piss off? I’m meeting someone, and it’s important, you know. Sensitive and all that?’ said Deputy Chief Constable Geoff Caldwell, looking away, his cultured accent at odds with his bad language. His face was still full of confusion, as if he couldn’t work out where he’d seen Max before.
‘I don’t think I can, Geoff,’ said Max.
Caldwell’s head snapped back towards Max again, a look of confusion, that was shifting to fear as realisation began to dawn.
‘Who you here to meet, Geoff?’ asked Max, his voice low and even.
Geoff opened his mouth to remonstrate, but then realisation hit him like a truck and his face fell, arrogance giving way to desolation.
‘It’s Craigie isn’t it?’ he said, his voice trembling, his deep-set eyes wide.
‘Aye. That’s me, and Hardie isn’t coming. He’s nicked and in custody in a covert facility, having tried to kill me and my elderly aunt. You sent him to me, and now it’s over. You’re coming in.’
Caldwell’s breathing sped up, his face began to lose colour as he stared around, not seeing the nearby surveillance officers.
‘I’m not coming in, not like this,’ he said, suddenly roc
keting to his feet, reaching into his waistband and producing a revolver. He pointed it straight at Max, the barrel quivering.
Max didn’t move. He was utterly exhausted and wasn’t even sure his feet would support his weight.
‘You’re not going to shoot me, Geoff. We both know that.’
‘Shut up. I’m not coming in, not like this. I’m not going to jail,’ he babbled, spit flying from his lips.
‘You’re not stupid and you aren’t going to shoot me. Shoot me and it’s life with a thirty rec. Come in nicely, then it’s more likely a ten-stretch. You’ll be out in five with a life ahead of you.’ Max’s voice hadn’t altered pitch or tempo. He continued to portray an image of complete calm.
‘I’ll shoot you!’ The pistol remained trained at Max, the barrel wavering as he shook with a mix of fear and rage.
‘There are armed cops everywhere, mate. Shoot me and you get shot.’ Max was almost stunned when he felt himself yawning. He pressed the transmit button. ‘All units wait. He’s not going to shoot,’ he said into the concealed mic.
Caldwell just stood there. A look of utter desperation and desolation written across his face. Suddenly he lowered the gun and sat again, the pistol on his lap, the air of murderous rage gone to be replaced by defeat. He let out a deep, forlorn sigh.
‘I knew it couldn’t go on forever, Max. This day had to come. I once took a bribe from Hardie almost thirty years ago. Then he had me and I was always there for him, no matter how high I progressed. He was always there, waiting and demanding. A word here, a tip-off there, you know how it goes.’
‘Come in, Geoff. Tell us everything, the lot, man. Cleanse your soul, and the judge will go light on you,’ said Max, soothingly.
‘It doesn’t end with me, you know. This goes further than you could possibly imagine. Hardie was just a thug, but there are others out there who have turned other people in our force and other national organisations. I’m just the tip of the iceberg.’ His voice was low, resigned.
Caldwell closed his eyes, tightly, and a solitary tear trickled from the corner and ran slowly down.
‘Then tell us about it. Help us bring all of them down.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, his eyes still closed.
Before Max could even think of moving, Caldwell reversed the revolver and jammed it under his chin and pulled the trigger. The report was deafening, close as Max was, and the top of Caldwell’s head blew off, shooting brain and skull upwards through his cap and depositing blood all over Max’s face and hair. A spray of blood and gore splattered across the shining glass of the Kibble Greenhouse. Caldwell was dead even before he slumped against Max’s shoulder.
77
Max sat with Ross and Janie in the chief constable’s office, all smartly dressed and feeling a little more human after a couple of days at home, plenty of sleep and some decent food.
Following DCC Caldwell’s highly public suicide, there had been an absolute whirlwind of activity. Almost forty trusted detectives were urgently formed into a large squad to investigate the whole conspiracy, including the Hardie case and corruption, all supervised by the PIRC. A member of the surveillance team had captured footage of the incident. Corruption at the top of a major police force was a major deal, and it made national and international news. Macdonald had not minced his words at the press conference.
Max and Janie had been sent home as soon as the scene had been dealt with and Caldwell’s partially headless corpse removed to the morgue. Max’s bloodstained clothing was seized and packaged forensically, and he was given a pair of joggers and a sweatshirt. After a long, hot shower at Gartcosh he had been driven home. He had declined any immediate intervention by counsellors of any type, saying he just wanted to sleep. He had slept for twelve hours straight, in a deep, dreamless state.
Max had remained home the following day, just pottering in the garden, exercising in the garage and taking Nutmeg on a long walk. He needed to be away from the case and to allow his brain to breathe after what it had witnessed over the past few days.
The chief seemed a little hesitant as he welcomed them all into his large office at Tulliallan. He had coffee brought in before he spoke.
‘I wanted to see you all together for a few reasons. Firstly, Max …’ He paused as if forming the words. ‘As chief of this force, I want firstly to apologise for the situation that you were forced into. You showed enormous fortitude, and determination to deal with this corruption, and it must’ve felt like the entire world was against you,’ he said, seriously.
‘I’ve had better times in my career, Boss,’ said Max, without anger.
‘I can imagine, and I can assure you that I’ve recommended you for the highest awards.’
Max just sat, saying nothing, unable to organise his thoughts. In the last few days, he had been threatened, shot at and had his dearest relative almost killed. There had been too many experiences in too short a time, and he realised that it would take a while to put it into context. No award, medal or certificate would make any difference.
‘Of course, my similar thanks go to you, Janie, and of course, Ross. You both acted with utter professionalism. Similar reports have been submitted for recognition.’
‘Thanks, but a bottle of malt will do for me,’ was all that Ross said, his face straight.
‘A quick update on the case, then. Thanks to your efforts with the phones, surveillance, recorded material and emerging witness statements that are all now filtering through, we have enough evidence to completely destroy this network that begins with the Hardie family and ends with the corrupt colleagues. I could explain it to you piecemeal, but the new SIO, DCS Morgan, has provided a detailed briefing document that I will get emailed to you all. Suffice to say, the case is a slam dunk and the PF is more than happy. All concerned are now charged and in custody and will be before the courts.’
‘Boss, can I ask just one thing? Why are we here?’ said Max, a little tersely.
‘To thank you and update you,’ he said, unconvincingly.
‘With respect, sir, you may need to try a little harder than that. As I for one don’t believe you,’ said Ross, a touch of humour in his voice.
Macdonald paused and looked at each of them in turn. ‘The last words Caldwell spoke to you have raised flags, Max. I don’t think the job is yet done, if indeed it will ever be done. I think that there is a wider problem with corruption, not just in Police Scotland, but in other law-enforcement agencies. I don’t want to relax just because the Hardies are now a spent force. I want to take this cancer on, and destroy it. In short, I want you three to look into this. I want you to form a new proactive anti-corruption team. I don’t want to fight fires anymore, I want to take the fight to the bent cops and force them so far onto the back foot that they become irrelevant.’
‘Don’t you already have anti-corruption units?’ asked Janie.
‘I do, and I’m not sure how much I trust them. Well, to be a little clearer, I don’t trust all of them, although I accept that there are some good officers there.’
‘What, you don’t trust the cops going after bad cops, so you want us to look at the cops looking at the bad cops? Jeez I’m confused,’ said Max.
‘Not just that, Max. Corruption anywhere in Scotland. I want any bent cops to fear us. To fear getting caught, so we will take the fight to them. We will use all the techniques, all the equipment and whatever resources we need.’
Max, Janie and Ross looked at each other, something passing between them. It was trust and, as things currently stood, that was everything they needed.
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Max.
‘Me too,’ said Janie.
‘And me,’ said Ross.
78
‘Drop me here, Janie,’ said Max as Janie was about to turn up Max’s track. ‘I need to wheel the bin up, and I could do with the exercise.’
‘Wow, man, it’s beautiful here. Look at that view,’ said Janie gazing at the azure blue sky colouring the expanse of sea in
the Firth of Forth.
‘Aye, soothes my soul. I’d never live in a town again.’
‘Would drive me mad, but I have to say, it’s very pretty.’
‘Horses for courses,’ said Max, shrugging.
‘Back to domesticity, then, after all these days of fighting monsters, right?’
‘Nietzsche, right?’
‘Never had you as a philosopher.’
‘He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss then the abyss also gazes into you. That’s right, yes?’
‘Jesus bloody Christ, and to think that I’m the one everyone takes the piss out of for being bloody weird. Careful, Craigie, or they’ll be giving you nicknames and ignoring you in the canteen, soon,’ said Janie, laughing.
Max laughed hard, for a full fifteen seconds, tears brimming in his eyes, before continuing, ‘Corny as it sounds, it’s something I’ve lived my life by. We have to always be the good guys, or the whole house falls down, right?’
‘No argument from me, Max.’
‘I’ll drive in tomorrow, give you a lie-in. What you thinking about the chief’s offer?’
‘It’s tempting, I have to say. You?’
‘Same, I don’t know, though. Rubber heelers has never appealed,’ said Max, shrugging.
‘Rubber heelers?’ asked Janie.
‘Are you too young to have heard of that?’
‘Obviously, Grandpa,’ said Janie, smiling.
‘Old-school term for internal affairs, or Professional Standards. Cops going after other cops.’
‘The way I’m thinking, it’s nothing like that. I don’t think it’s being suggested we go after someone claiming an extra hour’s overtime. We’re chasing criminals, or as Nietzsche claims, monsters. The fact that they’re cops is neither here nor there, they’re just bloody crims who need their collars felt, right?’
‘I guess,’ said Max.
Dead Man's Grave Page 31