Sneddon shrugged off his camel coat, stood up and came over to me.
‘Now this,’ he said with an irritated tone, ‘is exactly the kind of shite I’ve been trying to put behind me.’
‘If there’s anything I can do to help you put it behind you,’ I said through my teeth, ‘just let me know.’
‘And that,’ he said wearily, ‘is the kind of wisecrack that makes you a pain in the arse.’ He nodded to someone out of my sight behind me, presumably Twinkletoes. Another train hit me in the soft part of my back. It was Twinkletoes.
‘I’ve given you a lot of work over the years, Lennox. I know that you think you’re too good to work for me or Cohen or Murphy any more, but this shitty little business you run … it wouldn’t have got off the ground without us. And I’ve always treated you fair, haven’t I?’
‘Generally speaking yes,’ I said, trying to focus on his face and ease the pain in my arms. ‘But I have to say that this current little tete-a-tete is stretching both our working relationship and my arms from their sockets. So why don’t we cut to the chase?’
‘Fair enough,’ said Sneddon. ‘You know why you’re here?’
‘I’m just trying to get to the bottom of this Strachan thing, is all. And I know you have more to do with it than you’ve admitted. I know who you are. I mean, I know who you were…’
Sneddon looked past me again and jerked his head towards the door. ‘Go wait outside with Singer, Twinkle.’
‘Okey-dokey,’ said Twinkle behind me, somewhat mournfully. ‘Sorry, Mr Lennox …’
‘It’s okay, Twinkle,’ I said, still taking short breaths. ‘I know it’s just business.’
‘Okay… enlighten me,’ said Sneddon, after we were on our own.
‘I can’t prove any of this … and you’ve got to understand that I don’t want to prove any of this. All I want is to know who’s been trying to kill me and why.’
‘Go on …’
I groaned a little first. My shoulder sockets hurt like hell and I still felt sick from Twinkletoes’ punches. His half-heart-edness about beating me up hadn’t been transmitted to his fists.
‘Let’s go back to the Empire Exhibition robbery in Nineteen thirty-eight,’ I said. ‘It was the biggest raid in Glasgow history. One of three robberies, all record breakers. I am now one hundred per cent certain that it was Gentleman Joe who pulled them all off. Gentleman Joe and his band of anonymous merry men. But that copper got killed and everything went to hell. Four of the gang get the wind up, but Strachan and his apprentice, the so-called “Lad” keep running everything by the book. From what I’ve been able to find out, it was the Lad who did most of Strachan’s enforcing but, like the rest of the gang, his identity was kept well hidden from everyone.’
‘Get to the point, Lennox.’
‘Let’s say Strachan was the shooter. Killing that copper put a rope around everyone’s neck. So there was an argument. Before he died, Stewart Provan told me that the gang split up after the raid and arranged to meet up a week later at the Bennie Railplane hangar. The three reckon they’re going to be double-crossed by Strachan and the Lad, so they do a bit of double-crossing themselves. Emotions are running high because of the murder and shots are fired. Strachan or one of his crew ended up dead. My money has always been on Strachan, because the bones they dredged up fit with a taller man. So he takes the deep, dark sleep at the bottom of the Clyde and no one gets to know where the money is. Except that doesn’t make sense, because Strachan’s wife and twin daughters get a grand apiece, every year on the anniversary of the Empire Exhibition robbery. So my guess is someone did get to the money. The whole pot. And kept it stashed nice and safe over the war years.’
‘And who do you think that someone was? From what you’re saying, it sounds like I was right and Gentleman Joe survived,’ said Sneddon.
‘Not necessarily. There was a member of the Empire Exhibition team who was even more of a ruthless son of a bitch than Strachan. The one they called the Lad. He sits tight. Maybe does his war service, while all the time he knows that when demobilization comes he’ll be sitting on a gold mine. Enough money to … well, what could he do with money like that? He could set himself up in some far-flung part of the world, but keep looking over his shoulder, or he could build a power base that would make him the one to be feared. The one whom others look over their shoulders for. So that’s what he does. He becomes the richest, most powerful organized crime boss in Glasgow. You’re the King of Kings, after all, aren’t you, Mr Sneddon? You had the viciousness and the ambition all along, but now you had the working capital. It was you: you were the Lad. And you know all about the money the twins get every year because you send it, don’t you?’
I grinned. I was a smart guy. I had it all figured out and I had to go and prove I had it all figured out. I was so smart that I’d talked my way into an early grave. Sneddon didn’t call for Twinkletoes. He would do this himself. No one could know what I knew.
‘And what makes you so sure of that?’ he asked in a quiet, calm voice.
‘I came to you to ask where I could find Billy Dunbar, and during our talk, I tell you that I’m looking into Joe Strachan’s disappearance. The next day, I’m jumped in a foggy alley by someone who tells me to drop the whole thing. The only people I suspect of having dropped me in it are the police: I never, for a second, think that it might have been you. Then I see Billy Dunbar who spins me an elaborate line of bull that just might be true. But he lets it slip that you put him onto the gamekeeper’s job because you knew about the vacancy. You knew about it because you created it when that gamekeeper stumbled on you, Strachan and the others practising for the Exhibition job.’
Sneddon laughed. It was something I’d never seen him do. ‘You know, Lennox, you’re really something. You really want to rush headlong into an early grave, don’t you?’
‘Maybe I’ll get some peace there,’ I said. It wasn’t a wisecrack.
‘Go on,’ said Sneddon.
‘My guess is that you killed Strachan when you went back to the hangar, and probably Mike Murphy too. Then you hunted the others down, ending with a bomb in Stewart Provan’s car today. But back to Dunbar … you and Billy Dunbar are old mates, and Dunbar doesn’t have two pennies to rub together, so you concocted the whole Strachan as an officer crap. You knew that I would have found out about Strachan’s gimmick of impersonating officers at the end of the First War, and how he could pass himself off as anyone, anywhere. It was wild enough for me to swallow it. In the meantime, you hire some officer-type ex-commando to scare me off and when that doesn’t work, you tell him to kill me.’
‘You think you’re such a clever cookie, don’t you, Lennox?’ said Sneddon.
‘I was just complimenting myself on that very fact.’ My voice was dull now. I was exhausted. And I knew that I was going to die.
‘Why do you send the money to the girls, Sneddon?’ I asked. ‘I can’t believe you have any kind of conscience. Sending that cash exposes you, so why?’
He smiled. I didn’t like that. Not one bit. He came around behind me. I was going to get it in the neck, or the back of the head. I looked up at the chains: there was nothing I could do. At least it would be quick.
Suddenly I was on the grimy floor, coils of chains cascading down on me. Sneddon had unhitched the gear, releasing me. He was round in front of me again. He pocketed his gun and sat back down on the chair. Twinkletoes burst through the factory door.
‘Everything all right, boss?’ he asked, looking across to me. ‘I heard some cacko-phoney.’
‘Everything is fine. Twinkle. Mr Lennox and I have sorted out our misunderstanding. Wait outside, we’ll be out in a minute.’
‘I don’t get it …’ I said, for once out of wisecracks. I eased the chains from around my wrists.
‘No you don’t, Lennox. You’re right: I was “the Lad”, all right. Joe Strachan taught me everything I know.’
‘So you did take part in the Triple Crown robberies?’
‘There are some things I’m not going to admit to. Some things that are locked up tight for good. You draw your own conclusions. But know this, Lennox. I didn’t kill Joe Strachan. Yes, it’s me who sends the twins the cash every year. You’ve asked why, and I’ll tell you. I send them the money because they’re my half-sisters.’
‘You’re Strachan’s son?’
‘I tracked him down. I don’t fool myself that I wasn’t one of the many bastards that Strachan had fathered. I found out later that my Ma had been a real looker when she was young. And Joe Strachan always had an eye for the ladies. They have a thing going and she gets knocked up. She dumps me as soon as I’m born and I end up being raised in an orphanage. That’s where I learn that you’ve got to be top fucking dog or you’re nothing at all. It took me an age to find my Ma and then Gentleman Joe. I took a length of lead pipe along to our father-son reunion, but things turned out all weird. I swear he was nearly in fucking tears when I told him I was his son. He just had the twin girls, you see, and Strachan was full of that crap about passing something on. A son to inherit the empire. So yes, I was the Lad. But he didn’t call me that because I was his apprentice, I was his son. So when I told you I took over his wee empire,’ said Sneddon, ‘that’s exactly what I did. I inherited my father’s estate.’
I eased myself painfully to my feet and rubbed at my wrists. ‘Let me guess,’ I said. ‘You’re going to tell me I got everything else wrong.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Well, everything seems to fit: you tell Dunbar to spin me that line about seeing Strachan during the war … a smokescreen. And then you hire an ex-commando to warn me off, but when that fails, you tell him to kill me. But then there’s something that doesn’t fit.’
‘What’s that?’
‘That old razor scar of yours. A distinguishing mark, you might say. There’s a frightened little queer called Paul Downey who specializes in dodgy photography. He’s persuaded to do a blackmail job to pay off a loan shark when suddenly a knight in shining Bentley turns up and offers him a simple job, nothing illegal on the face of it, and in turn he gets an unreasonable amount of money. This rich knight calls himself Mr Paisley and he’s a flash dresser but has a razor scar on his right cheek, just like yours. By the way, I guess that you inherited your father’s taste for expensive tailoring. So you are the Lad, and you’re “Mr Paisley”?’
‘It’s your story, Lennox. Go on …’
’So there’s these two facts, added to the fact that I’m still breathing, that screw up my theories. Why would you pay someone to take photographs of some guy who we all think is Strachan, if you know for sure Strachan is dead?’
Sneddon took out a gold cigarette case and offered me a smoke. I took it. He lit us both up. ‘So what’s your take on it now?’
‘I don’t know why,’ I said, ‘but you needed to convince yourself that Joe Strachan was dead or not. You got a tip-off that he was going to be up meeting with the Duke of Strathlorne on his estate and you know that Downey’s going to be up there because you own the loan shark, and therefore the loan, that Downey had to pay off. You knew about the whole John Macready blackmail thing.’
Sneddon shook his head. ‘It was a mad fucking idea. They were never going to get away with it. But when I heard that they were using a cottage on the estate, it was too good an opportunity to miss.’
‘It was you who told George Meldrum to recommend me to the lawyer Fraser, wasn’t it?’
‘Aye. I knew you’d clear it up in no time and they’d pay you over the odds. I needed that whole thing tied up before someone found out about the photographs I hired Downey to take.’
‘So you didn’t put anyone else on it. You weren’t behind the killing of Downey’s boyfriend and the fire at the tenement?’
‘No. I couldn’t put anybody onto that. And I had no need to have them killed. You were my man on the case, even if you didn’t know it at the time. But then you got yourself involved with the twins and finding out who was sending the money. You’ve brought all of this shite down upon yourself, Lennox. Don’t blame me.’
‘I’m not. But I’m asking you for some straight answers.’
‘Then ask.’
‘Okay …’ I reached into my jacket pocket and took out the photograph I’d gotten from Downey. ‘In that case, in the name of Christ and all that’s holy, will you please, please tell me … is this man your father, Gentleman Joe Strachan, or not?’
Sneddon took a long, slow pull on his cigarette and smiled maliciously as he let the smoke go, savouring my frustration.
‘Yes.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘You were right about us all meeting up at the Bennie Railplane,’ said Sneddon. ‘And about everybody being worked up about the dead copper. We weren’t supposed to talk to each other, see each other until the meet. But the other three had got together and had planned out their own wee play. I reckoned Joe and me were to get it there and then, but there had been coppers at Maryhill Station and I had to take the long way round, meaning I turned up late.
‘They must’ve had Joe at gunpoint in the hangar, because, as I was getting close, I heard gunfire and people shouting. One of the bastards had been lying in wait for me. I was going to get two barrels in the face, but I was too far away. I wasn’t armed, so I made a run for it. They fired a couple of shots at me but couldn’t risk any more. The coppers were running around all over Glasgow and there was always the chance some gamekeeper would think there were poachers in the area. I went home, got tooled up and got Billy Dunbar to come back with me. When we got there they had gone.’
‘So who was dead if it wasn’t Strachan? Mike Murphy?’
‘You see,’ said Sneddon, ‘that’s the thing … I had expected to find Joe’s body, but there was nothing. Not Joe, not Mike Murphy, nobody. But there was blood. A lot of it. Someone had taken a breath stopper, there was no doubt about that.’
‘So you didn’t get the money after all?’
‘Aye, I did. Joe must have cottoned on to the fact that the others were likely to turn on us. They got nothing. I got sent a postcard, through the fucking Royal Mail, believe it or not. He had balls, did Joe. He must have posted it on the way to the robbery. He must have known even then. Anyway, this card was posted in Glasgow but it was a postcard of Largs, down on the coast.’
I tried not to shudder at the mention of the exact location where I’d stashed Paul Downey.
‘This postcard had a picture of the Pencil on it,’ Sneddon continued. ‘You know, the monument to the Battle of Largs when we kicked out the Vikings or some shite. There was nothing written on the card, but I knew that Joe kept a boat down there at the marina next to the Pencil. He had it under a different name, so the coppers didn’t know about it or could search it. I was the only other person who knew about it and the identity he kept it under.’
‘Henry Williamson …’ I volunteered. Sneddon stared at me in amazement.
‘I have my moments,’ I explained.
‘Anyway,’ continued Sneddon. ‘I went down to the boat and right enough, stuffed under a bench inside, were two suitcases full of money. So much money I sat there shaking. Shaking like a fucking leaf.’
‘All of it?’
‘Half of it. And not just half of the Exhibition job, half of all the Triple Crown robberies. I sat there and counted it all out. I reckoned it was the safest place to do it.’
‘That was a lot of money.’
‘Just like you said, enough money to change your fucking life forever. You know, Lennox, no one has ever known about that money. Now you do, and I don’t know what to do about that.’
‘You had your chance a minute ago.’
‘I could still shut you up for good.’ Sneddon sighed. ‘You won’t talk. You know that it would end up fatal for you. But, more than that, you still think you’re some kind of colonial fucking officer and gentleman. You’ve been rolling around in the shite like the rest of us, but none of it seems to stick to you.
You won’t tell because it would go against your code.’
‘I wasn’t aware I had one,’ I said. ‘What do you think happened to the other half?’
‘At the time I had no idea. I thought that maybe Joe had stashed it somewhere else to halve the risk, and maybe the others had tortured it out of him, but I doubted that. He would have spat in their fucking eye and taken a bullet first. I just assumed that he had hidden it somewhere good and the bastards never got it. But then, as time went on, I began to wonder if he had survived the shoot-out in the hangar and had taken the other half for himself and was hiding out somewhere.’
‘But you did kill the other three, didn’t you?’ I asked. ‘Bentley, McCoy and Provan, who you blew up today.’
‘As a matter of fact, I didn’t. I don’t give a shit whether you believe me or not, but I didn’t. I wanted to. I wanted to hunt them down, one by one, and kill them slow. But you have to remember that no one knew who I was. I had all of this cash and started to build my little empire. Vengeance had to take a back seat. Bear in mind no one could connect me to a robbery in which a copper was murdered. I couldn’t put my head above the parapet.’
‘So it was Strachan?’
‘When I read about the first, then the second death, I began to put it all together. Then Billy Dunbar told me about seeing Joe during the war. He also told me that he’d seen Joe hobnobbing with the Duke of Strathlorne. What Billy didn’t tell you is that he saw Joe twice more, after the war. Both times on the estate meeting with the Duke. I worked out that Joe had been living off his half of the proceeds of the robberies and had set up this identity. Or stolen it, I suppose you could say. Every time the Duke has special guests, he arranges a shooting party, so Billy got advance notice of them coming. I told Downey in turn.’
‘Mr Sneddon,’ I said tentatively. ‘Do you know about Dunbar?’
‘Know what?’
I told him about my second trip up to see Dunbar, about finding him and his wife, about my chase through the forest, about recognizing the older man from the photograph. Joe Strachan.
The Deep Dark Sleep l-3 Page 26