He didn’t look amused.
‘Was this about territory?’ I asked, because Tommy Law oversaw a good chunk of our Edinburgh operation.
‘Aye, he was warned off,’ confirmed Fallon, ‘while they were breaking both his arms and legs and smashing his jaw in.’
‘Jesus, who did it? Do we know that much at least?’ I couldn’t imagine who would have the sheer brass balls to come up to Fallon’s patch and beat the shit out of Tommy Law like that.
‘According to Tommy, they’re Eastern Europeans.’
‘Eastern Europeans? Could he not narrow it down a bit?’
‘Oh aye,’ he told me, flaring, ‘it was easy to narrow it down because Tommy speaks fluent Serbo-Croat and, from their accents alone, he could tell exactly where they were from. They’re either Russian, Polish, Czech, Serbian, Croatian, Ukrainian or Albanian. Basically, from what he was able to mumble through his broken jaw, I’m fairly certain they are from some place east of Newcastle, get my meaning?’
‘Alright, alright, I hear you,’ I replied, ‘it was a stupid question. The only thing we should really be discussing here is our response.’
‘Agreed,’ he said, ‘but I want to hang fire a wee while on that.’
I was impressed by this uncharacteristic restraint. ‘That’s unlike you Fallon.’
‘I’ve got my reasons.’
‘Which are?’
‘McGlenn’s disappeared.’
‘Oh.’
‘So has his stash and all of the money.’
McGlenn was a dealer who worked for Tommy Law, ‘and you think it’s the same guys but you’re not sure yet. You’re wondering if McGlenn is involved and put them up to it?’
‘I’ve not known McGlenn as long as my Glasgow crew. He’s an Edinburgh lad. Maybe he got greedy and stupid and flew off to Ibiza with it all. If he has then we’ll find him and deal with it separately.’
It didn’t much matter for McGlenn whether he had been killed by the Eastern Europeans, or cut a deal with them to take down Tommy Law, then done a runner with Fallon’s money. You didn’t steal from Fallon. Either way, McGlenn was a dead man. It mattered to Fallon though. He wanted to know exactly what had happened to his dealer, because he was wondering if we were already in an all-out war. Me? I couldn’t believe it. Things had been quiet for so long and now, all of a sudden, everything was erupting around me.
‘Keep me informed.’ I said. I needed Fallon to handle this one on his own. I had enough shit to juggle.
‘Of course.’
While Fallon was briefing me, Palmer had walked away to the window, his lack of attention irritating me.
‘What is it Palmer?’
‘It might be nothing,’ he said it so quietly I could barely hear him, ‘just a guy I’ve seen a couple of times now. He walked by the Mitre the other day when we were coming out and he went past here too as we were walking in.’
‘Can you remember everyone who walks by one of our places?’ This seemed barely credible.
‘Not everyone,’ he admitted, ‘but I remembered this one.’ His tone made me take him seriously.
‘What was he like?’
‘Tall, stocky, middle-aged, dark brown hair, dressed in one of those old green Army jackets that were popular years ago.’
‘So, apart from the crap fashion sense, what offended you about his presence? Seeing him twice in two days?’
‘It’s a big city,’ he told me. He meant the odds were pretty long on that happening.
‘A professional?’
‘Didn’t look like a pro but maybe that’s cos…’
‘He’s a pro?’
‘Exactly.’
Kinane couldn’t deal with a conversation as opaque as this one.
‘You’re saying he looks like a pro,’ he challenged, ‘because he doesn’t look like a pro?’
Palmer snorted at the absurdity of his own argument. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’
‘Jesus H Christ,’ and Kinane shook his head, ‘you’ll be seeing spies on every street corner.’
‘But it might be nothing?’ I countered.
Palmer shrugged. ‘It’s probably something.’
‘You are itching to get out there,’ I said, ‘so go on.’
‘I will,’ he said simply, ‘just to have a nose.’
While Palmer was gone, Kinane, Fallon and I continued to discuss what should be done when Fallon found out who was behind the attack on Tommy Law, but my mind wasn’t fully on this localised Edinburgh dispute. I was just waiting for Palmer to come back into the building, probably with an unconscious, army-jacket-wearing, thug hanging over his shoulder.
When Palmer did return, fifteen minutes later, he looked troubled. I gave him a look. ‘No one out there,’ he said.
‘You sure?’ I asked him.
‘As sure as I can be,’ he answered.
‘Meaning he could be out there,’ offered Kinane, ‘he might just be better than you.’
‘Thanks for that comforting thought Joe.’ I told him.
I was sitting in The Strawberry pub with Palmer waiting for Kevin Kinane’s latest report when Maggot showed up, with his usual great timing. I like The Strawberry, which uses its location as the closest pub to the football ground as a fine excuse to paper its walls with framed and signed portraits of Toon legends old and new. I’ve been drinking here since I first blagged my way in as a teenager, in an era when its windows were nearly always boarded up. Like me, it has moved with the times and gone up in the world. I like the place, but I don’t like Maggot.
‘Bloody hell,’ I hissed, ‘that’s all I need.’
‘What the fuck does he want?’ asked Palmer.
Maggot pretended not to have noticed us at first, even though I had seen him clock me as soon as his ferrety eyes came around the corner. He went into an elaborate routine of looking down while he walked towards the bar, patting the pockets of his crumpled denim jacket, looking for cigarettes, a lighter and his wallet, all of which he took out one after the other, as if to reassure himself that they were still there. Then he stopped, looked to one side, clocked us, as if for the first time, feigned surprise and came over with a big false smile plastered all over his grubby face.
‘Alreet Davey,’ he said, like he was thrilled to see me. ‘How are you doing?’
‘Canny,’ I told him, ‘at least I was.’
He ignored this and asked, ‘Are you wanting another one like?’ as he nodded hopefully at our nearly-full glasses.
‘Yes please Maggot,’ answered Palmer, ‘that’s very good of you.’
But that wasn’t what Maggot meant, and we all knew it. Instead he just stood there looking part hopeful, part disappointed.
I took a twenty out of my wallet and slid it over the table towards him. ‘Get them in then.’ And those rodent eyes lit up.
Maggot bought the three pints and carried them unsteadily back towards our table, clasping them together with yellow, nicotine-stained fingers, spilling some of our beer in the process. I didn’t ask him for my change and he didn’t offer any. It must have slipped his mind.
‘So come on, out with it,’ I demanded, as he took his first deep gulp of beer, ‘what is it you’re wanting?’
‘Eh?’ he said, all innocence, ‘oh no, I was just passing.’
‘Fuck off Maggot. You were looking for me, you found out we were in here and you tracked me down, so what’s it about?’
He looked a bit worried, but immediately turned my accusation into flattery. ‘Eeh there’s no fooling you Davey Blake, sharp as a tack, that’s why you’re the boss, it’s just a little loan like.’ The words came out in a self-conscious rush.
‘Another one? Christ what is it this time? The horses or Sticky’s card game?’
‘Aye, well, a bit of both,’ he admitted.
We paid Maggot well, considering all he ever did for us was run the Sports Injury Clinic, our dodgy massage parlour on the outskirts of the city, yet he pissed away most of his wages on beer and
betting. Maggot was a low-level operative in the firm and Bobby only kept him on the payroll because he was always loyal to members of his crew. He did have one skill however, and it had nothing to do with his day job. He had the uncanny knack of knowing virtually everything that went on in this city and that made him useful on occasions.
‘How much is it this time?’ I asked.
‘Five grand,’ he told me, with an apologetic shrug.
‘Which must mean you owe about three and you want the other two to try to win it back.’
From the look on his face I knew I was near the mark. ‘So I’ll let you have three and a half. That way you can pay your debts and survive until pay day.’
What was I thinking? Maggot was the kind of guy who lived off tins of beans and fried eggs, mopped up with slices of cheap, white bread. Every spare penny went down the bookies or the boozer. I knew he’d be betting that extra five hundred before the day was out.
‘Cheers man Davey,’ he said, ‘I owe you.’
‘You do,’ I told him, ‘but you’ve got to earn it first.’
‘Oh hey man, please. Sticky’s looking for uz, says I have to pay him today or…’
‘He’ll break one of your arms.’
‘So he says.’ Maggot looked worried, and he had cause to be if he owed Sticky. This was a high-stakes, illegal poker game we got kick-backs from. You didn’t go into that game without proper money behind you, unless you were as dumb as Maggot.
‘He’ll lay off you if I tell him to,’ I said, and Maggot grinned. ‘I might not tell him though,’ the grin vanished. ‘Like I said, you’ve got to earn it. Now, what have you heard about this copper’s daughter.’
‘Just the usual,’ he said.
‘Fuck off Maggot. I know you. You’ll know something none of us knows, so what is it.’
He thought for a long while. I knew Maggot well, he would be desperate to please me to get his money but he wouldn’t dare make something up. ‘Just that…’ he hesitated.
‘Out with it.’
‘She did a bit, you know,’ he said.
‘A bit of what?’
‘Just that she liked a bit of blow, you know.’
‘And who told you that?’
‘Just someone I know,’ he mumbled, ‘he knows all the footballers, says she used to go to their parties and that.’
Maggot was worried I wouldn’t believe him. The poor young copper’s daughter had been painted as a blushing virgin in the Press and he was saying the opposite, but the link to the footballers corroborated what Golden Boots had told us. Doing a bit of coke tended to come with the territory when he was involved.
‘And how could she afford that, I wonder?’ I asked him.
‘Well I don’t think she had to pay for any of it, but she was a game girl. She knew how it worked.’
‘Now then Maggot!’ shouted Kevin Kinane, slapping a huge hand down on the older man’s shoulder ‘when did you crawl out from the U-Bend?’
Maggot hadn’t realised Kevin Kinane had crept up behind him and he jumped out of his skin
‘Fuck off, Kevin!’ he retorted, without thinking it through, which was a stupid move because I knew Kevin wouldn’t let that one go. He would wait till Maggot was on his own one day and give him a slap.
‘Why don’t you make me, you fat bastard? Look at you,’ and Kevin curled his lip at Maggot, ‘you’re like a sleazy little pork scratching on legs.’
‘Both of you shut up,’ I ordered, ‘this isn’t a playground. It’s a shrine,’ I indicated the pictures on the walls, ‘now show some respect. What have you got for me Kevin?’
Kevin Kinane looked uneasy.
‘It’s alright, he’s family.’ Maggot was many things but he wasn’t a grass and none of this was too sensitive. We were looking into the case at the request of the police anyhow, but Maggot gulped down his pint as quick as he could, burped and said.
‘I’ve got to be off anyhow. You’ll have a word with Sticky for us?’
I nodded and Maggot slunk away. Once he was gone Kevin gave us an update.
‘Okay, I caught up with some of Golden Boots’ lads,’ he said, ‘they’re practically a fixture at Cachet, so we know them all. They all remember Gemma and they saw her at the party on the Friday night. She walked in on Golden Boots’ arm. A bit later he took her to the bedroom. A very short while later he came out and he pretty much ignored her after that. You know what he’s like.’
Kevin took a sip of his pint and continued, ‘She hung around for a bit. Eventually he gets one of his lads to drive her and her friend Louise home and we know she got there safely. Here’s the interesting bit, I spoke to all of his friends and some of them say she wasn’t at the party on the Saturday night but a couple of them reckon she was. She tried to see old Golden Boots again but he was busy.’
‘Meaning he was shagging another lass?’
‘Yep.’
‘How did she take that?’
‘Not well, apparently. She got pissed and started saying stuff about him.’
‘What sort of stuff?’
‘Tiny cock, shit in bed, that kind of thing.’
‘So what happened?’
‘Eventually she fucked off, but nobody knows when she went or who with. I’ve asked everyone. Most of them don’t remember her at all. You know what his parties are like? Stacks of people, everyone high or pissed, dozens of strangers mixed in together in that big house of his, people coming and going all night. All we’ve got is a couple of folk who remember a brunette with the hump at Golden Boots. One minute she’s there and the next she’s gone.’
‘What about his entourage? Anyone give her a lift home this time?’
‘They all say no,’ and he cut me off before I could question him, ‘and I didn’t ask them nicely. They’d have told me. Someone could have driven her though. He’s got nine cars and the keys are just lying around, plus there will have been a dozen other cars on the driveway or in the grounds and taxis coming and going all evening. Who’s going to remember one young girl?’
‘Alright, thanks Kevin. Let’s hand that over to Sharp and he can take it from there.’ Kevin nodded, then he went off to the Gents. I was pleased with his efforts. This was just what I needed; a plausible explanation behind the death of the young lass that didn’t involve me. She’d attended a party, she’d got the hump, maybe there’d been a row, she was drunk and vulnerable. Perhaps she tried to walk home on her own and was offered a lift by some predatory bloke, who drove her out of there while no one was looking. It was enough to take the heat off me and get the police looking in a different direction. They could untangle the rest.
‘So poor little Gemma Carlton liked to do a bit of blow and shag footballers,’ I said when he had gone, ‘not quite the innocent little copper’s daughter we thought, eh?’ but Palmer didn’t seem to be listening.
‘A pork scratching on legs,’ he said quietly, ‘that’s priceless, that is.’
‘Finish your pint,’ I told him, ‘we’ve got work to do.’
24
I had never seen the man before, but we picked him up on CCTV easy enough. It was Palmer’s army-jacket guy. My blokes stopped him before he got too close to the main door of the Cauldron. Vince took their call, listened for a moment, then lowered the phone so he could speak to me.
‘There’s a fella downstairs says he wants to see you. The boys told him to fuck off but he said he knew you were here and he wouldn’t leave till you heard what he had to say. They threatened to kick the shit out of him and he just laughed, said he didn’t care what they did to him.’
‘Bloody hell,’ commented Kinane, ‘he’s either nails or he’s as mad as a badger.’
‘Who is he?’ I asked.
‘He says his name is Bell, Matt Bell,’ answered Vince.
‘Do you know who he is?’ asked Kinane.
‘Yes,’ I said, finally understanding, ‘he’s the father of Leanne Bell, the little girl Baxter killed.’
‘Jesus,’ said Kin
ane.
‘What do you want me to do?’ asked Vince.
I didn’t want to turn the poor bastard away, but I was pretty sure I wouldn’t want to hear what he had to say to me. In the end I said, ‘They’d better bring him up.’
Two of our guys escorted Matt Bell into the room. I noticed that they stayed close to him but I had two guys from the door, plus Palmer, Kinane and Vince with me, so I didn’t feel in any danger. The man before me must have been in his late forties, but you could see in his eyes that he’d been through something resembling a hell on earth. Our guys were all big, hard blokes, but he didn’t seem remotely intimidated by them. I watched as he glanced at Kinane, Palmer and Vince, then finally his eyes fell on me.
‘David Blake?’ I nodded. ‘My name is Matt Bell,’ he told me, ‘do you know who I am? Why I have come here to see you today?’
‘I think so, yes.’ He dipped his head slightly, as if to acknowledge that I hadn’t bothered to lie to him. ‘Take a seat,’ I told him.
‘I’m fine standing thanks,’ he replied then, without preamble, he began. ‘There’s a man being held on remand in Durham jail called Henry Baxter. I understand you know him?’
I couldn’t see any point in lying about that, ‘I do. He has worked for me for a while.’
‘Then you know what he has done to get himself in Durham nick?’
‘I know what the police are telling me he’s done, yes.’
‘Baxter murdered my daughter, Mr Blake.’ He said it with a conviction that was absolute, then his voice cracked, ‘My little girl’. He cleared his throat, then he continued, ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I promised myself I would say my piece and get out of here without making a bigger fool of myself than necessary, but it’s hard. It was ten years ago, but I think about it every day, so it doesn’t feel like ten years to me,’ then he balled a fist and planted it firmly against his chest to indicate his heart, ‘my grief is still fresh.’
‘I understand.’
‘Do you?’ His tone made it clear that he seriously doubted that. ‘I assume the police are telling us both the same thing, that there’s no doubt Henry Baxter is the man who murdered Leanne. Baxter raped and strangled a thirteen-year-old girl, then he drove her out into the country. He dug a ditch at the edge of a field and he dumped her in it, so we couldn’t find her. Two months, Mr Blake. That’s how long it took for the police to discover my little girl’s body. For eight weeks my wife and I clung to the slim belief that she might still be alive, somehow, that maybe she’d just run away, even though that hope was chipped away with every freezing night that passed until they found her.’ My crew stayed silent while he said his piece, everyone afforded him that respect. ‘All those days spent knowing our baby was most likely gone forever but, until we knew for sure, we would allow ourselves to hope that she could be alive somewhere and we might get her back one day.’
The Dead Page 13