‘You’d better come in,’ she’s saying. Saying it because she couldn’t stop him if she wanted to. And because everyone has a little streak of self-destruction in them, which pulls danger close rather than pushing it away.
He’s sitting on the chair in the living room. The one Kenny used to sit on to watch TV. God, he could be lazy sometimes. Deana’s sitting on the couch. Her usual place. Might as well be comfortable.
‘So, what do you want?’ she’s asking. This could go anywhere. A man like this, as cold as he is. You can’t read him. Can’t know what’s going through his head. This feels like a warning, he wouldn’t be so public otherwise, but it could be a brutal warning. There are men in the business who don’t know where to draw the line. Deana’s glancing at the living-room door. Nope, couldn’t make a run for the front door from here and get away.
‘I know that your boyfriend went out a couple of nights ago and didn’t come back,’ the man’s saying. Low, flat voice, like he’s bored with this already. ‘You’ve probably worked out that he’s not coming back. You need to learn to keep that to yourself.’
That’s it. A bored man telling her to forget about Kenny. Like this is going to be enough warning.
‘You’re telling me to just forget about him?’ she’s asking incredulously.
‘Can’t be that hard,’ he’s saying quietly.
Arrogant bastard. ‘You think you’re so tough and scary, don’t you? People like Peter Jamieson think they can just run over the top of people like Kenny. Throw them away, like they’re trash. Well, I’ll tell you…’ And she’s stopping. Stopping because this guy is smiling at her. The smile of a man who knows something she doesn’t. ‘Something amusing?’ she’s asking, just about ready to lose control.
He’s shrugging. ‘That’s your problem. Old-fashioned thinking. You think Peter Jamieson got rid of your man?’ Shrugging again. ‘Think what you like. If Jamieson’s the man you want to hate, then you can rest assured, his punishment is coming. Jamieson has enemies, and they’re coming for him.’ That irritating knowing smile again.
Now she’s stuck. All her rage directed at Peter Jamieson. Then this smug git comes into her house and tells her she’s aiming at the wrong target. It’s shut her up, which the man seems to appreciate. He’s getting up.
‘That’s supposed to convince me, is it?’ Deana’s saying. Getting her voice back. Her anger back. ‘You say it, so it must be true.’
The man’s pausing, looking down at her. Smart eyes. ‘You don’t know who I am?’
She’s shrugging.
‘My name’s Nate Colgan. I used to do some work for Jamieson. Not any more. I can see the change coming.’
Now she’s looking at him. Now she’s frightened. Nate Colgan.
‘I won’t keep you any longer, I’m sure you’re busy,’ he’s saying sarcastically. ‘You needn’t worry yourself, you’re under no threat. You’ll soon see this unpleasantness over. We’ll overlook you running to the police this time. We can be generous like that. Just make sure there isn’t a second time, okay.’ He’s making for the door, not even glancing back at her.
Deana’s listening to the door closing, then a pause, then the front gate banging shut. He’s gone. The infamous Nate Colgan. She’s heard the stories about him. Everyone in the business has. The man the scary people are scared of. She knows she should be scared of him, too.
But right now it’s not fear, it’s anger. The more she thinks, the angrier she gets; the more people she’s angry with. If Colgan isn’t working for Peter Jamieson, then he’s working for Shug Francis. Has to be. Kenny told her all about Shug’s attempts to muscle in on Jamieson’s market. Told her about Jamieson’s failure to deal with it. So Shug wants to hit someone close to Jamieson. Someone Jamieson will notice is gone. So he goes for the easy one first. The driver. That’s so cheap. Even Deana knows what the reaction will be. Everyone in the industry will just think Shug’s pathetic. Going for a driver? Fuck’s sake, they’re ten a penny. Kenny used to say it himself. You have to go after someone that matters if you want people to take you seriously. Maybe Jamieson can be an ally. That would be a relief. Then she would have more friends than she’d realized. More people with the ability to get things done.
Not like that prick Fisher. Another arrogant bastard. Is he any better than the one who just left? Someone else who thinks Kenny was trash. A pause. Remembering the words. ‘We’ll overlook you running to the police this time.’ That’s what Colgan said. Just about the last thing he said before he left. As if he was doing her a huge favour. He was, in a way. The moron. Told her that they know she’s gone to Fisher. It couldn’t be Fisher himself, could it? No, no way. Kenny talked a little about him. Told her the kind of cop he was. Tough, surly, but definitely honest. Everyone said so. Got a hard-on for gangland stuff. Just because people think he’s honest, doesn’t mean he is. She knows enough of the business to realize that there are many strings wound around places you wouldn’t expect. People entangled in dark corners. It’s a shock. In minutes, her enemy and her ally have swapped places.
It was never going to take long, and here it is. The shock replaced by more anger. An explosion of it. She’s off up the stairs, shoving open the bedroom door. Into the drawer of her bedside cabinet and pulling out the notebook. Flicking through the pages a little too fast, crumpling the corners. Finding the number and looking round for the phone. Where the hell is that phone? She wants to make this call right away. Needs to make it before her anger subsides. Might not be the smartest thing to do, but her anger will turn bitter and linger if she doesn’t. She’s found the phone. Shit! Pushing the buttons too fast, hit the wrong one. Button with the red phone logo to hang up, and trying again. This time she has it. This time it’s ringing. Come on, pick up. Don’t dodge this one. You haven’t earned the right to escape this wrath.
17
Fisher’s about to leave the office. Go and kick a few pseudo-cops up the arse. They got the files from Hardy’s office late yesterday afternoon. How much more time can they possibly need? He’s not looking for every fucking detail. Enough to make an arrest or three would be quite enough. They like to be slow about it. Meticulous, they call it. Getting every detail, so everything stands up nicely in court. Which is fine, don’t get Fisher wrong. He wants everything done to the best standard. What he doesn’t like is people using that as an excuse to drag their heels. Go and see what they have. He told them to work the Shug file first. That one matters most immediately. The others will be bullshit. Petty stuff for fiddling the taxman. The Shug file is the one that gets people killed.
His phone’s ringing. Bloody thing, always ringing when he’s about to go. Never rings when he has nothing better to do. Mind you, it isn’t often that he has nothing better to do. The telephone brings nothing but bad news. Even from within the station. People come up to the office if it’s something positive. He’s picking it up. Might as well. Gives the financial unit a few more minutes to have something ready for him.
‘Hello.’
‘You bastard.’
We’ll be honest here and admit that’s not the first time Fisher’s been greeted with those words. Nor the most aggressive. Not even in the top five. Still, you don’t expect it when you put the phone to your ear. It’s a female voice, which narrows it down a little. Still could be one of many. Wife, lover or mother of someone he’s arrested and put away. They’re sometimes a ferocious bunch. More so than their men, actually.
The first thing he’s doing is sighing, so this woman understands that her insult is nothing new to him. Let her know that she hasn’t shocked him. Now that he’s done that, he’s moving on to a snide comment. Put her in her place.
‘And you are?’
‘Hah,’ she’s laughing, but it’s a hard little laugh. ‘I bet you don’t recognize me. One day after I call you, and you’ve forgotten me already.’
‘Deana Burke,’ Fisher’s saying. Not with any enthusiasm. She’s a pest and she’s about to throw a bucket of abuse over
him.
‘Yeah, Deana Burke. Not the first time since we last spoke that you’ve used my name either, is it, Detective? You’ve been gabbing my name around all over the place. To some interesting little friends of yours. I bet your bosses would be interested, anyway.’
‘I’m sorry, I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,’ he’s saying. If it sounds genuine, it’s because it is. What he wants to say is that she sounds like she’s out of her fucking mind, and he has better things to do than listen to her. The policy-makers frown on that sort of response, though.
He’s halfway towards hanging up when his brain catches up with his instinct and stops him.
‘What do you mean talking to interesting friends? Who do you think I’ve been talking to?’
‘I had a visit from one of your friend’s employees. A charmless bastard who came into my house and told me to keep my gob shut.’ She’s not going to name names. Not when the name is Nate Colgan.
Hard to argue with that, Fisher’s thinking. ‘Wait, wait. Slow down. Someone broke into your house and told you what?’
‘Nobody broke in. He came to the door.’
‘And you let him in?’
‘Yes, I let him in,’ she’s saying, her voice starting to rise back towards a shout. ‘What was I supposed to do, push him out the fucking gate? The guy was twice my size. A mean-looking bastard. The kind of mean-looking bastard that knocks little women like me around for fun.’
Fisher’s letting her breathe. Letting the conversation calm a little before he continues.
‘So this guy comes in and tells you what, exactly?’
‘Tells me to keep it shut–I just told you,’ Deana’s saying, exasperated. ‘Told me they would forgive me for talking to your lot. That things were happening, and it would soon be over. If I keep away from the police from now on, I’ll be left alone. They know I talked to you. You told them, you bastard. You told them. I can’t believe it. They know I talked to the police, and you’re the only cop I ever talked to in my life. Now they’re sending people round to intimidate me. Because of you, Detective, because of you. Kenny’s blood’s already on your hands. Mine next, is it? Not that you care. You went and told them as soon as I was off the phone to you. You phoned up Shug Francis and told your wee pal that I was a danger. Oh, you are some piece of work.’
She is crying a little bit by the time she reaches the end of the rant. Doesn’t matter. Fisher lets her carry on. Do her some good to get it out of her system. Do him some good to listen to her. Shug Francis. Unbelievable! Shug Francis already knows that the police are looking for Kenny, because of Deana’s call. Which means someone told him. Someone from within this station. Easy to find out that the police are looking for Kenny. Hard to find out that it was Deana who reported it. Impossible, unless it came from the station.
‘He said he worked for Shug Francis?’ he’s asking, after a few seconds.
‘He didn’t say it,’ she’s saying. Quiet now. Anger all used up. ‘He said he worked for someone that was about to destroy Peter Jamieson. Which means Shug Francis, in case you lot haven’t been paying attention.’
‘Uh-huh,’ Fisher’s saying. He has been paying attention. Better than Deana, it would seem. Shug isn’t going to destroy Jamieson, doesn’t have the ability. Not soon. Not ever. Has the ability to kill his driver, though. Cheap move like that might be right up his street.
‘Right, listen to me, Deana, this is important,’ he’s saying. He doesn’t mean to sound superior this time, but it’s hard not to. She’s emotional, annoying and badly informed. ‘We need to talk face-to-face. I need to know who this person was, and I need to know every detail of what he said. I did not tell Shug Francis, or anyone else, about this. Frankly, I’m offended that you think otherwise. But we’ll gloss over that for now. Right now we need to make sure you’re safe and that we can find out what exactly has happened to Kenny.’
Another harsh laugh from the other end of the phone. ‘You think I’m going to come and meet you? You think I could ever trust you after this? You must be off your head. No way. Never. If you’re such an honest and decent guy, then you have to prove it first. You find out what happened to Kenny. You can go and do whatever you do, but don’t expect anything from me. From now on I’ll do what’s best for me and Kenny.’
She’s hung up. No point phoning back, she won’t answer. That last sentence. Saying she would do what was best for her and Kenny. Jesus, that sounded almost like a threat, the way she said it. Fisher’s shaking his head as he puts the phone down. One of those bitches who think they can take on the world. Go stick her nose into this mess and get herself hurt. His concern for her lasts all of two seconds. His thoughts have raced somewhere else. Somewhere darker. Someone in this station leaked that Deana Burke reported Kenny missing. Could have been an accident. A stupid fuck-up. But he doesn’t believe that. Brain-dead and detestable as some plods round here are, they all know better than to name a witness. Nope, this was deliberate. Instinct runs to Paul Greig, pointing at him enthusiastically. Brain is pulling it back again. Talk to Higgins first. Fisher gave him the order and left it with him. Hear what he has to say. Then blame Greig.
Takes half an hour to get Higgins. He’s out on the street somewhere. Fisher doesn’t know what he’s up to, but he’s on his way back to the station now. Should be here, helping Fisher. He’s not getting the officers he wants for this investigation. The DCI reckons the number-crunchers can handle most of the work; all Fisher gets to handle are the arrests. The Hardy disappearance isn’t getting enough support, either. Not enough proof that it has anything to do with organized crime. Going to need more. Kenny McBride: that could be the link that pulls everything together. Would give Fisher the size of investigation that he needs. Two linked disappearances. Linked by the suspect. Linked by Shug.
Here comes Higgins. Walking into the office in his uniform and across to Fisher’s desk. A nod to DC Davies. Higgins has more confidence around the detectives than he used to. That’s a good thing. He’s a talent, and he’ll end up with a desk of his own in here one day.
‘Kenny McBride,’ Fisher’s saying.
‘Nobody’s seen him,’ Higgins is answering. ‘I put the word out but… nothing.’
‘When you put the word out, what detail did you give?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Did you tell anyone who reported him missing?’
‘No, course not. I didn’t even say he’d been reported,’ Higgins is saying, a little defensively. ‘I said if anyone spotted him to report it back to the station. No arrest, just report. I hardly gave any detail at all.’
Fisher’s nodding. Shug gets rid of Kenny. Someone tells him the police are looking for him. Maybe he puts two and two together. Fisher told only Higgins about Deana. Higgins told the station to keep their eyes open. Someone told Shug the police were looking. Someone is guilty of a leak.
‘Okay,’ Fisher’s saying, putting an end to it.
‘Something the matter?’ Higgins is asking uncertainly. ‘Did I do something wrong?’
‘No, no,’ Fisher’s saying. He hates cops who are always looking for reassurance. The hand-holders. Higgins isn’t one of them. Not yet anyway. ‘Nothing wrong. Word got out that we’re looking for Kenny. Shug Francis sent a man round to Deana Burke’s house to tell her to keep her mouth shut. Threatening visit.’
‘Shug Francis?’ Higgins is putting a hand up towards his mouth. Rubbing his chin and thinking. ‘Shug Francis?’
‘Yeah, so?’
‘So I heard something about Shug Francis. I mean, I don’t know. It might be nothing. A rumour. Came from a legit source, close to but on the outside of the industry. Doesn’t tell me much, but it’s usually reliable when he does. I heard that Shug was getting close to Alex MacArthur. Trying to get help before he goes after Peter Jamieson. I only got that this morning, so I don’t know how recent it is, but I trust the source.’
Now it’s starting to add up. Shug goes running to MacArthur. That
sly old bastard. You had to wonder how long it would take before he tried to cash in on all this. Has there been any trouble in the city in the last thirty years that MacArthur hasn’t tried to make money from? So Shug goes running for cover. Must have offered MacArthur a big cut of his business to make it happen. First thing MacArthur is going to say is that they need to consolidate. Time to bring your books over to our accountants. Can’t have that old fart running around with all your old secrets now, can we? A very predictable conversation. And, of course, Shug agrees, because he can’t afford not to. So Hardy’s a target with no defence. But Shug wants something in return. He gets rid of his own moneyman, but he can’t leave it at that. A clean-up job makes him look like he’s bending over for MacArthur. So a hit against Jamieson. Pick an easy target, because you don’t know how to get rid of the tough ones. The driver. And now we have Kenny and Hardy, together in one investigation. One big investigation.
‘I’ll let you know when there’s more,’ Fisher’s saying. ‘I think this investigation is about to grow. Keep an eye out for Kenny, though,’ he’s saying as an afterthought. You keep looking, even if you don’t expect to find. It’s just polite.
Higgins has gone, off to do his pounding-the-beat thing. Shug Francis. Not the biggest target in the city, not by a long way. Still important. Getting more important by the day, it would seem. Getting either bold or desperate. Both are dangerous. Two possible murders to tie him up with. A link to MacArthur could be all kinds of useful, if confirmed. It won’t be confirmed, obviously. Fisher knows that already. A man like MacArthur doesn’t survive this long without being careful. But Shug? He’s not careful. He wouldn’t be throwing himself at Alex MacArthur otherwise.
The Sudden Arrival of Violence Page 9