‘I knew maybe two months ago that I was going to get out. Get out of the business. Get out of the city. I was giving up too much to be good at what I did. So I decided to use those killings as an escape route. Jamieson and Young wouldn’t expect to hear from me for a week, maybe more. That gave me time to get everything I needed and get out. I needed help from someone I could trust. So I turned to my brother, William. He was happy to help. He’d wanted me to get out of the business for ages. He went and picked up the fake ID I was going to use, from a man called Barry Fairly. Must have been Fairly who grassed us up to Jamieson. I wanted them to think that maybe I’d been killed that night. The night I killed Hardy and Kenny. I wanted them to be unsure. Fairly ruined that. So Jamieson sent a man called Shaun Hutton to attack my brother. Hutton killed him.’
Calum’s stopped, and now he’s looking Fisher square in the face. Fisher isn’t saying anything. Sitting there looking back at him. A little puzzled. A little shocked. Not sure how much of this he can trust. Usually he would trust nothing. A man turns up and starts telling stories about the people he thinks are responsible for his brother’s death and you can ignore most of it. People blurt out all sorts of bullshit in the quest for revenge. This is different. What Calum’s said about himself makes this much more credible. Nobody offers that much incriminating evidence as part of a yarn. And a lot of what he’s said fits in with Fisher’s suspicions. Someone dying in Calum’s flat, for one thing. Calum disappeared and the place was deep-cleaned. Fisher knew something had happened there that was worth a meticulous cover-up.
‘What about before Jamieson?’ Fisher’s asking. Surprising himself with that question. It shouldn’t be the first. Focus on what’s right in front of you. But he feels a need to know more about this young man.
‘Before Jamieson I worked,’ Calum’s saying with a shrug. ‘But I haven’t come here to talk about before Jamieson. I’ve come here to talk about Jamieson.’
‘I have evidence that says Shug ordered the hit on Kenneth McBride and Richard Hardy.’
‘Your evidence is planted,’ Calum’s telling him. ‘They can manipulate all sorts of stuff to point you the wrong way. Phone records. Suggestions to coppers from contacts. They’ve been doing it for a while. I think that’s what kept me off your radar. You didn’t know I was the man you were looking for. Didn’t even know that it was someone working for Jamieson you should be chasing. They’re careful. Always plotting. Always playing the game.’
Fisher’s rubbing his forehead. He knows he shouldn’t let the conversation halt, but there’s too much to think about. He needs more detail–that’s a start. ‘The murder weapons—’ he’s starting, before Calum interrupts him.
‘All gone. Long gone. I always got my guns from a man called Roy Bowles,’ he’s saying. Fairly grassed, so he was grassed in turn. Now it’s the old man’s turn. ‘He’s an old pro, been in the business for years. I don’t have any of the weapons I got from him. I don’t know where they are.’
Fisher’s nodding. That makes sense. About the only thing that does. Taking another look at Calum. He’s just lost his brother, sure, so that makes him unpredictable. But this? A long-term gunman, low on the radar and successful, confessing and throwing names around. This doesn’t quite make sense. Not even if the boy was emotional, which he’s not. Told the whole thing with a cold voice. Like it was no big deal.
46
Hutton’s arrived at the club. Been parked across the street from the entrance for about five minutes. Pretending to check messages on his phone. Doing no such thing. Gathering his nerves. Got the call from Young about half an hour ago. Shouldn’t be nervous. This will be the job against Calum. Punished the brother, now it’s finally time to move against the man who matters. This is what Hutton’s good at. There’s a part of him that’s looking forward to it–the part that wants to feel comfortable with his work again. So far, the crossover and a job he hasn’t liked. They must know that he hasn’t liked being muscle for them. He’s not being paranoid here, but he’s convinced they’re unhappy with the work he’s done. This will turn it around. They hired him as a gunman, and a good performance against a well-regarded target like Calum MacLean overshadows all past poor performances.
He’s across the street and heading to the entrance. Stopping as he sees John Young coming along the street. Young seems to be giving him a dirty look. That’s not good. Hutton’s nodding a hello.
‘Come on,’ Young’s saying, leading him into the club. They’re going up the stairs without saying a word. Young going faster than Hutton because he’s used to them.
‘Is this about Calum?’ Hutton’s asking. There’s nobody around. No reason not to ask that Hutton can see. Yet the question’s getting a dirty glance from Young.
‘You could say that.’ That’s all he’s saying, pushing open the doors to the snooker room. You don’t ask a business question anywhere other than the office. Certainly not on the stairs of the club, where anyone can come and go. But his annoyance runs deeper. Hutton made Young look bad. Hutton’s incompetence made Young’s judgement seem suspect. There are few worse mistakes for an employee to make.
They’re walking through the snooker room. Hutton knowing enough to know that he should walk behind. Along the corridor and knocking on the office. Inside, taking seats. They’re in their usual places. Young on the couch to the side, Jamieson behind the desk. Hutton’s sitting on the chair in front of Jamieson, stewing. The atmosphere is wrong. If this is a call for a job, then the mood should be different. There should be tension, of course, but it should be excited tension. There should be a sense of people being busy. People wanting to get you in and out quickly. Don’t ever be seen with the gunman.
Not this time. Languid and angry. A strange atmosphere, that doesn’t bode well. Jamieson’s sitting opposite, looking sulky. Not even glancing at Young. The atmosphere between those two is what worries Hutton. A bad feeling towards himself is scary, sure. Means they’re not happy with his performance and he has to step up his game. A bad feeling between Jamieson and Young could mean serious problems for the business. Could have consequences for everyone who works for them.
‘William MacLean’s dead,’ Jamieson’s saying to Hutton. Looking at him accusingly. It’s taking Shaun Hutton a few seconds to remember the name.
‘Oh,’ he’s saying. Then saying nothing else, because what else do you say? Jamieson’s just told him that he botched a job. Worst kind of botch. Brought a murder investigation to their doorstep. Anything he says now will only antagonize.
‘Oh? Is that it? Oh? And that explains why you kicked the bugger to death, does it?’
Apparently saying nothing antagonizes as well. ‘I didn’t think I gave him that much of a kicking. I went, I isolated him, I did the job I was given. I didn’t mean for him to die. Look, that was muscle-work. I never said I knew muscle-work.’ Now he’s stopping, because his brain is catching up with his mouth. Brain isn’t happy with mouth’s performance. He’s just suggested that Young made the mistake by sending him to do the job. Just admitted that he can’t be trusted with muscle-work.
Jamieson’s glancing across at Young. He can see Young bristle, but Young won’t say anything. He’ll stick to protocol. Jamieson won’t. Not today. He has things he has to say. Dereliction of duty if he doesn’t. And he needs to vent.
‘So it’s someone else’s fault, because you don’t know how to kick the shit out of someone without killing them? Is that it?’
‘That’s not—’ Hutton’s starting, before being silenced by Jamieson’s growing rage.
‘It was a rhetorical question.’ He’s standing up now. ‘You fucked up. Badly. Worse than badly. You killed the wrong fucking brother. Now Calum’s out there somewhere, walking round with a grudge. How do you think that’s going to work out? That’s rhetorical, too,’ Jamieson’s shouting before anyone can open their mouth. ‘You had a very simple job to do. You failed, and failed badly. You’re finished with us.’
Hutton knows what that
means. His name is about to become poison. He’s about to become unemployable in this city. Even as a freelancer, he’ll struggle for work. Might have to move away, but even that might not be all of it. He could become a target. The man who knows too much. He’s opening his mouth to say something, but Young’s beaten him to it.
‘Peter, come on.’ Looking across at Jamieson. Trying to talk him down, but knowing he may be wasting his breath. Jamieson’s anger isn’t out of control. On the contrary. He’s thought about this. He knows what he’s doing here. The cold anger. Seems like he’s lashing out, but he’s not. He’s plotted this, and is now delivering the message. It’s one that Young doesn’t think should be delivered to the guilty party. You don’t tell a man that he’s a potential target.
‘Get out,’ Jamieson’s saying to Hutton. ‘Come on. Get up and get out. Don’t show your face here again. We’re done, you and me. Finished. Go on, piss off!’
Hutton’s getting slowly to his feet. Looking across at Young. Young’s giving him a little nod. A nod that tells him to do as he’s told. Leave, but Young will try to work on this. Might not be as bad as it looks. That’s what Hutton’s thinking. Hoping. Making his way to the door and out of the office. Praying that this is an elaborate warning. Good cop, bad cop. The boss fires you; his right-hand man calls you up a few hours later and tells you you’re back in the organization. Just keep your nose clean and standards high from now on. Makes sense to Hutton. The right-hand man’s the one you deal with most often. The one you need to like. Fear the boss, like his deputy. And Hutton can change things. There’s something he can do. First he needs a drink to kill his nerves. As he’s making his way down the stairs, he’s telling himself that this isn’t over. It just feels like it.
As soon as Hutton’s closed the door, Young’s turning on Jamieson. ‘That was stupid. Even if you want him out, you don’t tell him. There’s nobody else, for Christ’s sake. You get rid of him and we have no cover at all.’
‘Yeah,’ Jamieson’s saying quietly, ‘and whose fault is that?’ Letting it hang.
Young’s taking a deep breath. ‘Not my fault that Frank turned out the way he did. Not my fault that Calum wasn’t committed. He was Frank’s recommendation. Maybe Hutton isn’t the best choice, but he served us well in the past. He could serve us again. Look, we sort out this Calum thing…’
‘Hah, and how’s that coming along, John? Tell me. Have you solved that wee problem?’
Now he’s looking to create an argument. Young knows it. ‘I’m not going to fight with you, Peter. We’ll find Calum. This is a bump in the road.’
Jamieson’s reaching into his drawer, taking out a bottle and a small glass. ‘Yeah. A bump. Don’t come back until you’re over the bump. Now get out of my sight.’
47
‘I’m sorry about your brother,’ Fisher’s saying. It maybe sounds like he doesn’t mean it, but he does. Fisher comes across people like William MacLean all the time. People who aren’t heavily involved. Fringe players. Sometimes people who aren’t involved in criminal activity at all. But they’re related to someone who is. Or they’re a friend of someone who is. And they end up carrying the can for someone else’s behaviour. Truth is, Fisher’s sick of seeing people like William MacLean. Sick of seeing people who’ve done little wrong end up on the slab because some thug thinks he can justify it to himself. Peter Jamieson. Shaun Hutton. Thugs that Fisher has to stop.
‘Thank you,’ Calum’s saying. Doesn’t sound like he believes it. Doesn’t need to. He’s not here for sympathy. ‘I want to say something about my brother,’ Calum’s continuing. ‘He wasn’t involved in anything. Not really. He helped me, but only because it was me. He wouldn’t have done it for anyone else. Maybe he occasionally did little things that he shouldn’t have in the garage, just to make a bit of extra dough. But it was nothing serious. Never was. He didn’t deserve what happened to him, and he doesn’t deserve to be trashed now. I know people will want to trash him, because he’s dead. I know you’ll look to trash him, because he’s my brother. But he doesn’t deserve that. He deserves to be treated with respect. That’s who he was. A good guy. Not some criminal. Not some thug. A good guy.’
Fisher’s nodding. ‘We won’t trash your brother. I know he wasn’t involved.’ He won’t deny that they destroy the reputations of people, because it happens. Sometimes it’s necessary to tell the unpleasant truth about someone. Not in William’s case. Not now.
Is this all about getting a good obituary for his brother? Revenge too, obviously. But to throw himself at a cop like this? That’s unheard of. Might be grief, Fisher’s guessing. Calum’s not thinking straight, and that’s what’s causing him to tell the truth. Grief can do funny things to people. Although he doesn’t seem grief-stricken. A bit depressed perhaps.
‘Is that all you want to tell me?’ Fisher’s asking. Calum’s told his story, fallen silent. Time for Fisher to take back control of events.
‘That’s it.’
‘And what do you think is going to happen now?’ There’s a little irony in Fisher’s voice. Like it doesn’t matter what Calum thinks will happen next, because he doesn’t get to choose.
‘I think you’re going to get out of the car and I’m going to drive it away,’ Calum’s saying. ‘And I think we’re never going to see each other again.’
Fisher’s about to laugh. Say something a little derisive, but not aggressive. This is still a dangerous man he’s dealing with. Now he’s silent. Silent because he can see Calum reaching into his inside coat pocket, and Fisher thinks he knows what that means. Odd thing is, even as he sees the gun emerge, he doesn’t fear for his life. A killer in a car with a cop, and the cop isn’t afraid. Why tell that long story just to kill the man you told it to? He’ll let Fisher go, but he’s showing how dangerous he is. Holding the gun low on his lap, pointing it at Fisher. Not saying anything. The gun does the talking for him.
‘Okay,’ Fisher’s saying quietly. ‘Just promise me that you’re not going to go out and use that thing. You said you wanted your last job to be your last job. I think I know why you’ve told me this. I think I know what you’re doing. That’s fine. Just don’t use that thing, okay?’
Calum’s turning and looking at him. A sharp look. ‘I’m almost gone,’ he’s saying.
Fisher’s opening the car door and stepping out. Walking slowly round to the front of the car. Clutching the recorder. It’s still recording, incidentally. Recording the noise of Calum starting the car. It better have bloody worked. Fisher’s watching, thinking. How much of this can he even use? Hardly a reliable witness. Now a disappearing witness. They’ll chase after him, of course, but Fisher has a feeling about that boy. Cold and sharp. The type who’ll know how to disappear. How to stay off the radar. There aren’t many like him. Few enough that those you do meet stand out. He might just have delivered Jamieson and Young. Shug was already at the end of the rope, but there was mention of MacArthur in this, too. It’s not so much the detail Calum MacLean gave about who did what to whom; the most important thing was clearing up the relationships. Who’s working with whom. Who’s working against whom. It makes sense of a complicated picture. Tells Fisher what he needs to do next.
Calum’s sliding across into the driver’s seat. Watching Fisher go round to the front of the car. Fisher’s smart. Not an accident where he’s standing–away from the doors of the car. Making a show of the fact that he’s not going to get in the way. Not going to try to stop Calum. Reversing the car and turning. Moving alongside the storage unit, looking back in the mirror. Fisher’s still standing there, watching the car go. Not doing anything. He won’t until the car is out of sight. Once Calum’s out of view, he’ll be into his pocket for his mobile. Good for him. Won’t make any difference. Calum will be ditching this car at the first safe location. Fisher will get it back unharmed. So long as they weren’t followed. So long as there aren’t half a dozen cops waiting for him when Calum emerges at the front of this building and into the street.
&
nbsp; There aren’t. He’s out onto the street, and driving away.
As soon as the red Renault is out of view, Fisher’s reaching into his pocket. Pulling out his mobile. Stopping, remembering the little MP3 player in his other hand. Still recording, the tiny screen says. Been recording for seventy-four minutes. Now his mind’s running off in another direction. How does he justify bringing charges on the basis of what’s on the recorder? He can’t. But he can use this info to direct him to better evidence that he can use. All the ducks are lined up now. Winter was working for Shug, so Jamieson had him removed. Shug hired Glen Davidson to kill Calum. Scott and McClure were killed on Jamieson’s orders, as was Frank MacLeod. Kenny McBride and Richard Hardy as well. Seems like Jamieson’s been a busy little beaver. Fisher’s smiling, and then remembering that he’s stuck here, car-less.
Calling the station, straight through to his own desk. They must be waiting for him back at the station. Wondering where he is. Worrying about him. By God, they better be. The phone’s ringing and ringing. Maybe there’s nobody in the office. All out looking for him? Not bloody likely. If someone’s decided to take it upon themselves to lead the arrest against Shug and Fizzy in his absence, Fisher will raise hell when he gets back to the office. Or maybe they just don’t want to answer his phone. He did tell them not to in the past. Doesn’t like other cops dealing with his business, even if it’s just to take a message. But he’s letting it ring so long now that someone has to answer it.
The Sudden Arrival of Violence Page 24