Shores of Death

by Peter Ritchie

  ‘Serious is an understatement. I can’t tell you why he’s in bother because it really could put people at risk.’

  ‘That’s not a problem, and just let me know what you need when you need it.’

  ‘Thanks, that could be a big help.’ She gripped her friend’s hand that bit tighter and told her it was time to go. They shared a taxi but didn’t say much till they arrived outside Macallan’s flat, where Bell gave Macallan a hug and told her to be careful. As the taxi pulled away she turned and waved from the rear window.

  Once she was inside Macallan pulled her clothes off and threw them in a pile on the chair next to her bed. It was way before her usual bedtime but she was out cold about thirty seconds after her head hit the pillow. She hadn’t even noticed the text from Jack saying that he loved her and they were both missing her.

  While Macallan slept, Richter tried to stay awake. Her parents had been with her most of the day and she’d endeavoured to explain to them what she was feeling. When she’d got the news that they were coming to Scotland she’d ached to be close to them and tell them how frightened she’d been. The reality had been difficult; she almost felt anger at their confusion, shock and inability to accept that such things could happen to their child. When they left she’d felt that something precious had been broken with the people she loved most in the world. She was drained and exhausted but didn’t want to sleep, to be visited by the terrible dreams that haunted her every night. The doctor had agreed that she could be discharged after another few days’ assessment and the thought of facing the world terrified her. She sat up in the bed hoping she could stay awake, but it was impossible to keep her eyes open, and she gradually drifted off into her waiting dreams.

  She was back on the long empty beach and the heat was unbearable. This time the sun filled half the sky and blazed red, its surface crawling with fire as it hung just above the horizon. It was as if her skin was burning.

  She turned away from it and stared at the vast empty desert behind her. It was always empty – nothing more than a rock-strewn wasteland – but there was a change. The whole length of the horizon was topped by a pitch-black line of cloud moving slowly towards her.

  She turned round again; although the sea frightened her she walked towards the water’s edge and noticed the small single-mast boat waiting a few yards from the shore. Richter groaned when she saw the two men sitting front and aft on the boat, staring towards her. They were motionless; lidless eyes bulging from the dull grey pallor of their faces; their clothes were rancid and too big for their frames.

  She tried to scream for help but although her mouth stretched wide nothing came out. There wasn’t a sound from the approaching storm behind her or the sea in front of her. It was a world of utter silence. She tried to run along the beach to escape but the sand sucked her legs up to the knees and she could barely move.

  Pulling her legs free, she kneeled and gasped for breath, dreading what was coming for her. When she’d struggled to her feet she looked around, and once more uttered a soundless scream as she realised the small boat was now on the beach. The two men hadn’t moved and she saw they were in decay. She realised it was the two men from the Brighter Dawn.

  24

  Crazy Horse McMartin was fucked if he was going to let the situation lie. Two of his team had been through to see Brenda, who told them what had happened but added the lie that the bastard who’d attacked her got her from behind. She warned them to wait till she was back in the game and she’d take care of the situation herself.

  ‘Is she fuckin’ mental?’ he asked the boys who’d spoken to her and dreaded giving her brother the feedback. It was a daft question because Brenda could be described as nothing but mental, but there was no way they could say that to her brother. ‘How the fuck can we wait? That bastard down in Newcastle thinks we’re fuckin’ amateurs; well we’ll show him how we do it in Glasgow. Then it’s the malky for these Edinburgh cunts. Do you hear me?’ Crazy Horse was starting to froth at the mouth and that meant nothing but bad news. They knew that it was all going tits-up, but who the fuck could they complain to? ‘I’ll do the pimp. Then I’ll do the Flemings, and then I’ll gob in Handyside’s fuckin’ eye. What do you think, boys?’

  ‘Nice one. That’ll show the cunts.’ They said it but really thought it was a shite idea.

  ‘Do you realise the boy we took on after your recommendation was an undercover?’

  Swan was so barely awake he wasn’t even conscious of having picked up his mobile when it rang, which meant he was a bit thrown by the angry voice in his ear, and it took him more than a few moments to work out who was on the other end. When, at last, the neurons in his brain started to communicate properly and he worked out it was Eddie Fleming his system went into overdrive and he started gabbling. All he wanted to do was give him the line that the man had been introduced by a Belfast punter, who seemed to have disappeared off the radar, and hope Eddie would be satisfied and leave him alone.

  ‘You know me – what the fuck would I do with that shite?’ he said. ‘I was nearly killed by the fuckin’ Weegies, so that explains it. You need to square it with them, for old times’ sake. I’ll make it worth your while. I’ve had to hire a couple of fuckin’ minders to look after me.’

  ‘No worries,’ Eddie replied. ‘I knew there had to be an explanation and you go a long way back with this family. Leave it with me and I’ll get back to you once I’ve squared it up.’

  Eddie put the phone down and decided he was going to kill Swan as soon as possible – he knew he was lying through his teeth. There might be a couple of heavies but they’d find a way. He called his brother Pat and Billy Drew and told them to put the job together. Later the same day they’d action a couple of boys from their team to watch the grass and find the best time and place to get to him.

  They weren’t to know that McMartin had exactly the same idea and intention, and that he planned to take care of the twins. Glasgow was carved up, but he’d seen weakness in the Flemings. All the McMartins had to do was burn them out and then they would have the whole market on the east side of the country.

  Eddie felt they were about to get back on course and that taking Swan out would send everyone the message that they’d cleaned up their own mess and the McMartins could stay in their own shithole. The twins kept repeating the same mistake though and had missed something important, which meant they were at risk from more than the McMartins.

  Swan shook his head and wondered whether Fleming had bought it. He checked his reflection in the en suite mirror, thought he still looked like shit and wondered whether he should invest in a toupee. Gnasher padded in behind him and nuzzled his master’s leg.

  ‘Let’s go and see the gorillas.’ Swan opened the front door and beckoned them in.

  They were an unusual pair – identical twins – and Swan wondered what their mother had done to deserve not one but two ugly-looking bastards. Tam and Stan Bonnar were a year off thirty, born and brought up in Granton and made their living as bouncers and through a bit of crime. They still lived with their mother, who saw nothing but good in her boys, and were always available if someone needed a debt collected or some revenge dished out. The mother had given her all to bring them up after their old man had been killed in a factory accident when they were still in primary school, and they adored her for that effort. School had been a waste of taxpayers’ money, but what they did like was boxing and martial arts. They were under six foot, but layers of hard muscle made them seem bigger. No one could ever remember either of them being involved with a woman, but then no one cared to question their sexuality, at least to their faces. Swan was paying them top dollar, but with his problems getting out of hand he needed this level of protection. If the McMartins came back they’d need a fucking bazooka to get through the Bonnar boys.

  ‘How’re we doing today, guys?’ Swan said it cheerfully; he liked the idea of giving orders to a pair of violent bastards.

  ‘Good,’ Stan answered (he tended to do all
the talking, which wasn’t much). The twins loved dogs and Gnasher had taken to them big time. The spoodle was staring plaintively up at the twins hoping for some attention. Stan got down on one knee and let Gnasher lick his face for a minute, which annoyed Swan.

  ‘Let’s get down to the sauna. Need to get things up and running or I’ll lose some of the regulars.’

  On the way he stopped to buy the paper he bought every day but barely read and twenty cigarettes to make absolutely sure he’d never reach old age. His body was already there. When he saw the story about Richter and the suggestion that there might be other women involved he knew a bad situation was getting out of hand. He called Eddie back.

  ‘Have you seen the headlines?’

  ‘Nothing to worry about, Ricky.’ He still sounded like Swan’s best pal. ‘There’s hee-haw to find and we’re sound.’

  ‘Did you manage to speak to the man through the west?’ Swan squeezed his eyes shut waiting for the answer.

  ‘I’ve set up a meeting with him. It sounds like we can work it out.’ Eddie smiled at his brother and Drew as he gave out the lie.

  Swan breathed a sigh; he might just get through the crisis. ‘What about his fuckin’ sister though?’

  ‘Why don’t you put out a contract on Cue Ball as a gesture of goodwill? That should do it, and if they find him she can go and finish the job herself if it makes her happy.’

  Eddie put the phone down and slapped a high five with his brother, oblivious to the fact that they were in as much danger as the man on the other end of the phone. Drew didn’t see anything funny. As far as he was concerned he was working with two young men who were good, but maybe not good enough for the top league.

  ‘Let’s get down to it, boys, and take care of Ricky Swan.’ Drew had a plan, and if it worked it would clear up all their problems and unfinished business. He explained that trying to get through the Bonnars during business hours would be messy at best.

  ‘We need to get the wee bastard when he’s on his own. When the boys have checked his routine for a couple of days we’ll go for it. My idea is to let him get back to his place at night and then make sure the Bonnars are off home. The story is that Ricky’s place is alarmed with cameras outside, but he’s pissed most nights so by the time he gets home he forgets to switch the thing on.’

  ‘It’s dodgy trying to do him in his place then, Billy?’

  Drew nodded. ‘We do him in the sauna. It’s simple: let him get back to his place, see the Bonnars home and then Ricky boy gets a call from the cops that the alarm’s gone off at the sauna and he’s the key holder. For one night, and one night only . . . we’re the cops. He has to come.’

  ‘It might just work!’ Eddie liked the simplicity of the plan – the simple ones were always the best.

  ‘All we need to do is wait and grab him when he arrives. If there’s any problem we stay back and find another way. We need to get it done pronto and then you can make your peace with the man down the road. That doesn’t apply to the McMartins; once Ricky is off the programme then we need to sort them out. They want your business, it’s as simple as that.’

  The Flemings saw the logic and agreed. They would push their boys to get the homework done on Swan and then take their shot at the grassin’ wee bastard who’d nearly got them killed.

  ‘Any progress with your contacts in the phone companies to try and track Barclay?’

  Eddie could have done without the hassle, but he needed Drew and had invested in getting him the information he wanted.

  ‘Better than that, Billy. Got a bent private detective on it. Ex-CID and doing the work on the phones. Signs are that Barclay still calls his wife from time to time so you might get a shot at him after all.’

  ‘I need this; don’t let me down.’ He said it like he meant it. Drew tended to only do serious statements; he’d stopped doing humour a long time ago when there was still something to laugh at. Eddie was paying Drew’s wages but he wondered if the man realised who the boss was.

  25

  Macallan was in O’Connor’s office by 7.30 a.m. and was anxious to get to the meeting with Northumbria Police in their HQ at Ponteland. McGovern had booked a car for that morning, but she wanted to welcome Thompson and Young to the team before they set off. Young wasn’t known as ‘The Brain’ for nothing, and they were going to need her in the hunt for an answer to the question of what had happened to Dixie Deans and the young women who’d died on the Brighter Dawn. Macallan explained to O’Connor that she’d taken full control as the coordinator for the incident on the boat, the missing UC and the attack on Ricky Swan.

  ‘It’s a lot to ask, Grace, I know, but we can’t separate the problems and no doubt they’re all linked. This threat from Ricky Swan – what do you think?’

  ‘It’s straightforward as far as the investigation is concerned. Whether he dishes some dirt on people who asked for it or not won’t make any difference to what I do. I’m no politician and won’t be distracted by it unless people make it a problem for me. If I find evidence that Swan has been involved in trafficking women then he gets a pull . . . same rules apply.’ Macallan knew that was probably too simplistic a statement because in the real world of rolling news, scandal could and did destabilise investigations. Swan was a registered informant so it didn’t take a lot of imagination to see the headlines if a source was up to his arse in the same sewer as the people they were chasing. The Met alone was sinking under the weight of enquiries into their dealings with the press, phone hacking, institutional racism and anything else the politicians could throw at it. Plebgate must have made the Commissioner want to bury his head under a pillow and weep, and the police were now available for a kicking 24/7, which was something O’Connor knew better than Macallan. That was her weakness (or strength, depending on how people looked at it): she lacked a political radar – or refused to have one. In the modern police force senior officers couldn’t work in isolation – the taxpayer demanded cooperation among the public agencies.

  ‘You have full control of the investigation, but if there’s fallout from Swan let me help you. You do what you do and I’ll deal with the wolves at the door.’ He grinned and told her he had to go to the morning meet with senior staff, who probably had one or two wolves in their ranks.

  She stood up and thanked him, and she meant it. It was a bonus if he took that weight off her shoulders, leaving her to try to find the answers to the real problems she was handling.

  ‘One thing...’ He’d picked up his papers, ready to go. ‘Everything okay with Jacquie? I see she’s started to run the stories.’

  ‘Ah, she did manage to get her copy submitted in time last night then. It’s sorted and we’ll drop it in gradually; she’s going to ramp it up tomorrow about the other girls. We have Ingrid’s statement and no reason to disbelieve her account.’

  Young and Thompson were waiting, and as Macallan passed McGovern he tapped his watch, knowing she always had a problem with punctuality through spinning too many plates at the same time. She shook their hands, resisting the temptation to give them a hug, but she was very glad to see them arrive. Young was going to Ponteland with them and Macallan asked her for a quiet minute with Thompson. She closed the door behind the analyst and looked round at the young woman who’d caused her a problem when she’d first arrived but had learned the hard way where her priorities lay.

  ‘Are you okay being here? I know you asked for a move but this is going to be tough and probably more than a bit messy.’

  ‘I’m happy, honestly; just tell me what you want me to do.’

  ‘Jimmy is going to set up some surveillance operations on the Flemings when we get back up the road. The field intelligence officers are out working on getting the job started and we should be ready in a day or two. I want you fully involved in the investigations and surveillance; if you’re up for it you can head one of the teams. How does that sound?’ She didn’t need to ask that last question – Thompson’s expression gave Macallan all the answer she needed. />
  ‘That’s great,’ Macallan said. ‘We need to go. Get over to Leith. Start reading the files and get yourself up to speed with the case. There’s a lot to do, and I want the team properly briefed and ready to go when we push the button.’

  Macallan headed for the door, hoping she’d made the right decision bringing in Thompson after what had happened. She’d been seriously burned, but if there was a positive it was that apart from some signs on her lower neck the damage was to her body and not her face.

  Mindful of the time, the two police officers plus analyst hurried to the car for the drive down to Ponteland: territory of footballers and fat cats, home to the Northumbria force HQ and a safe distance from unwanted attention and the good people of Newcastle.

  Macallan was quiet on the journey as she sat spinning all the problems and options through her head. She was still annoyed at herself for missing the text the previous night and the chance to call Jack before she’d gone to bed. The busy day followed by drinks with Bell, even though they’d only been in the early evening, was too close to the life she thought she’d left behind and she promised herself to be careful. Her life had proved how easy it was to lose something precious and she wasn’t going to let that happen with Jack.

  Before she’d left for her meeting with O’Connor she’d sent a text telling him she was counting down the days till they were together again. Living with her when she was in the middle of an investigation was going to test them, but there was no going back now.

  26

  When they arrived at Ponteland they were welcomed by DS Tony Harrison, who with his unmistakable London East End accent was clearly a long way from home.