Shores of Death

by Peter Ritchie

  ‘One last thing. If we don’t report this then we’ve already crossed a line.’ She watched O’Connor’s eyes as she spoke.

  ‘I know that, and I’m with you.’

  ‘If we’re going to use Harrison we might as well go all the way. I’m not sure that we can get to Handyside by any conventional means. The next time I meet Harrison I want to confirm to him that Swan is a source and that he was working for us when he introduced the UC to the Flemings. Then the lie . . .’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I tell Harrison that Swan has information on financial transactions and trafficked women that can put Handyside away.’ She sat back and waited.

  ‘This breaches Swan’s human rights, our duty of care goes in the toilet . . . and if it comes out or, worse still, he gets killed, it’s over for the both of us,’ O’Connor mused, staring across the playing fields. This went hard against the grain for him; O’Connor always played safe because nobody got to the top posts by acting like Mick Harkins.

  ‘I’m sick of these bastards,’ Macallan replied. ‘I don’t know if I can do this job much longer, but I don’t want to walk away and see them get away with what happened to Ingrid and those other girls. I didn’t need to tell you this, John, but I promised I wouldn’t bypass you again.’

  He turned round and nodded, his face set. ‘Okay. Let’s do this. I agree with you. Do you have everything you need in resources?’

  ‘We’re okay, and if I want anything I know I can ask you. Thanks.’

  She headed back to her office in Leith and called in Young and Thompson. ‘I want you to get some things started and then I need to go to the airport to pick up my beloveds. Lesley, I want you to make a call to Harrison, give him my apologies and explain that we need a meeting with him tomorrow because there have been developments.’

  ‘Tony Harrison?’ Thompson couldn’t resist asking.

  ‘Pete Handyside isn’t going to put his hands up for us. If Harrison is the corrupt bastard that we think then we’ll use Swan to draw him to us.’ She tapped the desk with the end of her pen and the answer was enough for Thompson as Macallan pushed on. ‘At the same time we need to make arrangements with them to have Maxi Turner and Geordie Simms lifted so we can interview them. Turner will say nothing, but who knows with the apprentice? Felicity, I want you to press on with the phone analysis and the financial investigation on Swan. There’s an application for an authority to intercept his phone and it’s a priority to be able to bring him in if we need to. What I really mean is bring him in and keep him. Lesley, I want you to pull all the stops out on this one and I’ll sign it as soon as it’s ready. The bastard’s been free to run this trafficking game for years and given too much room because he’s a source. As well as all that, I want a completely up-to-date pen picture on Billy Drew – anything and everything.’

  She stood up and pulled on her coat. ‘Right, I’m off to the airport; I’ll phone Jimmy on the way to see how he is.’ She picked up her briefcase and made for the door. ‘If there’s anything at all, call me. Anything.’

  39

  Macallan jumped in the car, feeling like a young girl again at the thought of having Jack and Adam back in her arms. She was so excited she forgot to call McGovern, who was on his way to A&E with a suspected heart attack.

  As soon as she’d parked the car at Edinburgh Airport, Macallan found herself almost running to the terminal even though she was on time. She scanned the arrivals board and saw there was a delay of about forty minutes. The past few days had been chaotic so she decided to indulge herself with one of her favourite pastimes and drink some coffee while she people-watched. There was something about airports, watching the excited tension on the faces of the waiting friends, lovers and children. That moment when someone dragging a trolley bag walked into view and all the love spilled over.

  She sat down with her coffee and watched a twenty-something walk through the gates to be devoured by the guy waiting for her. Macallan couldn’t suppress her smile as the couple went into complete lockdown mode and refused to let each other go. An old man sitting at the next table to Macallan chuckled. ‘Think they’ll have to get a jemmy to separate that pair,’ he said.

  Macallan nodded in agreement, the moment adding to her change in mood, and she felt the tension easing out of her neck. She’d had terrible doubts since she’d arrived back in Edinburgh, but no matter what happened she wasn’t going to let them distract her again. She would see this case through, and now that she had her family again that would be her priority.

  She ended up having her own moment when Jack struggled through the gates with Adam and a pile of luggage. It was impossible to hold it back and tears streamed down her face. She didn’t bother speaking and just held and kissed them, not wanting to move because it felt so good. The old man who’d joked with Macallan watched them, remembering all those moments he’d had himself and wishing he could do them again.

  ‘You’re such a girl, all that blubbing! What happened to the big-time detective?’ Jack pushed her back gently and handed Adam over. What surprised and shocked him was the strain cut into her face already. If he’d needed evidence of what the job could do to her in a very short time then the proof stood in front of him.

  ‘You look great.’ Even though she looked shattered he meant it, and exhausted or not he was glad they were back together.

  ‘No I don’t; I look like shit,’ she replied before pressing her face against Adam’s and sucking in the sweet scent of her son. He gurgled and wriggled his arms about while Jack grabbed the trolley then steered them towards the car park.

  With all three of them back together in the flat it felt like home again. They unpacked, fed Adam then put him down and, thankfully, he was asleep in minutes.

  ‘You go and have a bath and I’ll cook. How does that sound?’

  ‘Good deal for me, and any chance of an early night if Adam lets us?’

  ‘It’s fine by me, detective.’

  Macallan soaked properly for the first time in days and she had to fight the urge to fall asleep in the bath. The investigation had been put away for a few hours and all she wanted to do was sit and talk to Jack about nothing in particular and enjoy their meal together. He was a much better cook than she was – though she would never admit it – and while she tended to be careful with her intake of food, always mindful that she’d had a weight problem at one time, this wasn’t a night for restraint.

  She smiled at the man opposite her when she put down her fork. ‘No more, but thanks – that’s the best meal I’ve had all week. Let’s just vegetate a bit in front of the box. I think MasterChef is on so you might get even more great ideas.’

  They settled down on the sofa and within five minutes Macallan was sound asleep on Jack’s shoulder. He let her be – talking about her future could come later. He knew she was in the middle of something bad and that would be the worst time to muddle her with questions about their future.

  Jack’s voice woke her but she didn’t want to move, didn’t even want to open her eyes. She was so relaxed she felt almost drunk.

  ‘It’s Lesley from the office.’ Jack had been tempted to let it ring if she would stay asleep, but he knew what she was like and if it was something important she’d beat herself up for days. She took the phone and tried to sound wide awake.

  ‘Hi, Grace. Look I hate doing this on the phone but it’s more bad news. It’s Jimmy – he’s had a heart attack.’

  Macallan grabbed her brow and it hit her that she’d forgotten to call on her way to the airport. ‘Jimmy. Are you sure?’ She knew it was a stupid question but couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  Thompson knew how close they were: McGovern and Macallan had become real friends, not just colleagues. The news from the hospital was that the heart attack wasn’t likely to prove fatal. Apparently he’d been having symptoms for weeks but had done the man thing and ignored them. The doctors had assured his wife that it was mainly a warning and he’d be fine with a few life changes.
McGovern was an enormously fit and strong man, and that had made a difference when things had started to go wrong.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure. Apparently he said to his wife that you shouldn’t be told till the morning because Jack and Adam have just arrived.’

  Ten minutes later Macallan was in the car and on her way to the hospital. When she arrived on the ward Sheena McGovern was on the way out to grab a coffee.

  ‘Grace, you didn’t need to come,’ she said, but the expression on her face mixed relief with the gentle reproach, and the moment Macallan reached out to give her a hug Sheena broke down, needing to unload her worries after spending the last few hours pretending to her husband that she was fine.

  They went for a coffee together and Macallan just listened. What Thompson had told her was near spot on – the consultant was sure that McGovern would be fine and the event had been mild as these things go. That he’d been ignoring the symptoms could have been costly if he hadn’t kept to such a strict fitness regime over the years.

  ‘I’m just worried what this might mean for his job. He hasn’t got long to go for his pension but that’s not the problem. You know what he’s like, and I don’t know how he can go back to what he’s been doing. The job’s everything to him, you know that.’

  Macallan put her hand over the table and held Sheena’s as she started sobbing again.

  ‘We’ll do whatever’s best for him, that’s a promise,’ Macallan said. ‘If he can’t go on the front line we can get him into criminal intelligence. It’s a good job, and he’d be ideal for it. Anyway that’s for later. Let me have five minutes with him and I’ll see you back here.’

  McGovern looked almost embarrassed when Macallan arrived at the side of the bed. If she hadn’t been told he was ill she wouldn’t have known. In fact she thought he looked better than he’d done for the last few days.

  ‘What people will do for some time off! How you doing, big man?’

  She saw his eyes fill and was glad he managed to control it. McGovern would hate to blub in front of her over a small matter like his health. He was old school to his core and public blubbing was regarded as a sin. She kissed the top of his head and sat down. ‘What are we going to do with you now?’ She forced a smile; she couldn’t imagine not having this tough joint of a man at her side.

  ‘That’s what’s worrying me. The quacks keep saying I just need to take it easy. A DCI doing what we do – how does that work?’ McGovern was in turmoil, the life he’d known and loved seeming to have disappeared in a moment. And how could he be a proper man again with this weakness in him? No one could see it, but it was there and he knew it would influence every decision he’d make for the rest of his life.

  ‘Look, you know this wasn’t the big one. You look good and probably just need a bit of a rest, but that doesn’t mean the job’s finished for you. You’re still harder than most of the men in the service and you can stay on the team. This is probably not the time, but I know what you’re like so let’s get it out of the way rather than you lying in here worrying all night.’

  ‘What’s the deal?’

  ‘Willie Rafferty retires from criminal intelligence soon so there’s a DCI’s job up for grabs next month. Just think – nine to five and not having to get in spitting distance of these men we take on.’

  ‘That’s the point: the front end is all I’ve ever wanted to do. Can you see me sitting at a desk all day? I don’t even like paperwork.’

  ‘Let’s get you back on your feet, a bit of a rest and then we’ll see. Just for the time being, please do this for Sheena.’ She stood up. ‘I have to get back to Jack. Quality time and all that bollocks.’ She dropped another kiss on the top of his head and left her friend trying to imagine the future away from the sharp end.

  Macallan told Sheena it would all be okay and that McGovern would have a cushy number waiting when he was ready to come back, then added, ‘For God’s sake just don’t let anyone tell him that or he’ll have another attack.’

  They embraced and Macallan left, longing to get home for a few hours. The days to come would be tough and she’d just lost her right hand, but McGovern hadn’t done anything wrong. What he had done was remind Macallan that they were all human.

  When she got back to the flat Adam was awake so they sat on the floor and fell into happy-families mode. It was enough for Macallan. By midnight she was in a deep sleep with Jack’s arm slung round her, while in the half-lit ward McGovern stared at the ceiling, trying to come to terms with the fact that he was mortal. Although he’d accepted that he’d been lucky, it would take some time to fully appreciate the gift he’d been given.

  40

  Billy Drew sat in front of the TV watching one of his favourite old black-and-white gangster films. He was pleased with the way things had gone and was convinced that at last he was on the up. For the first time in his life he’d paid sixty notes for quality malt and thought he deserved every drop. He drank it slowly, savouring the feeling that he’d gambled with his life and come out on top. And then there was that bonus waiting for him down the line. Once Handyside had sent Ricky Swan to meet his ancestors and the turmoil had subsided, he’d take care of Jonathon Barclay first and follow up with Mick Harkins. He was going to spend a bit of time with both of them, making every minute count before he opened them up. It would be his little treat, to spoil himself a little watching them suffer. That was about as good as it got in Drew’s world.

  Handyside switched out the light, but he was wide awake. When his wife fell asleep he slipped out of bed, dressed and headed down to the riverside at North Shields where he wandered along the quayside to do his thinking. The storm had passed and calm had settled over the city streets again. He knew what had to be done, but his instincts filled him with doubt about his future. For the first time he realised that his order to kill the girls on the Brighter Dawn had set off a chain of events he couldn’t control any more.

  There was a line of fishing boats unloading their catches and he wondered again what life might have been like if he’d gone to sea.

  The night air was still and surprisingly warm now. He paused to light up a cigarette and began to blow smoke rings above his head like a kid showing off to his mates. The old Tyneside was disappearing; soon all that would be left were his memories of those days as a child and then his fight to the top. Maxi Turner had been right – they should have taken some time off to enjoy what they’d earned, but it was a bit too late for that. He decided that if they survived the next few days he’d make sure that Turner got his wish: he could go and develop skin cancer in the south of Spain. He was clear in his mind what needed to be done and how things could go wrong.

  The other problem was Grace Macallan. When she’d come to his home he felt he’d won a small victory, but that was all. Somewhere along the line, one side would lose the game – or maybe they both would.

  ‘Everything alright there, sir?’

  The voice startled him. He turned to find a young policeman, who looked like a teenager and too thin to be wearing the uniform, standing behind him.

  ‘I’m fine, officer. Bad case of insomnia, and I always come down here when I can’t sleep. Grew up round here.’

  ‘No problem, sir.’ The uniform walked off into the darkness, his heart thumping hard in his chest. He’d just spoken to Pete Handyside, who he’d recognised from the information bulletins. He made a note to pass the details on to criminal intelligence – doubtless he’d get a pat on the back from his shift sergeant for being on the ball in the middle of the night.

  Handyside smoked the rest of the cigarette and ambled round to have a look at the fish being landed. This was the place he loved, where most of his memories were formed. It was a place haunted by ghosts from the past, but he knew that under his feet the rats scuttled about below the old piers, watching and waiting. The thought that this might be the last time that he’d take the walk round the old harbour nagged at him, but he accepted it was a possibilit
y. It always had been, but something had changed.

  He got back into his Jag, stared at the black waters of the Tyne for a few minutes then headed home. He slipped back into bed and kissed his wife, who pretended she was still asleep. He felt better having made the visit to the harbour and it was all in the lap of the gods now. He was asleep in minutes.

  Few citizens of Edinburgh would recognise the address 297 Cowgate, and yet so many of them ended up as short-term guests there at some point. The dark corner of the old town held the city mortuary, whose bland and uninspiring architecture meant most people walked past in blissful ignorance of this reminder of the fragility of life.

  Crazy Horse lay quietly beside his former enemies Eddie and Pat Fleming on three matching trays in the chilled darkness of the fridges. They were missing their brains, and in Pat Fleming’s case his head, so they didn’t feel any discomfort. There was no sound apart from the quiet hum of the power units keeping the guests nice and cool. An audience of detectives and the Procurator Fiscal had watched the pathologist display his skills in forensic examination and sophisticated butchery in the penultimate big event of the men’s physical existence. A place in the fridges meant that they’d failed in their chosen career, but at least they’d get the regulation top gangsters’ send-off when the detectives were finished with their remains.

  As the clock touched midnight Ricky Swan was escorted to The Corral, where he packed some cases, loaded up his car and, with Gnasher staring out of the back window, headed for Loch Melfort.